


Part 1: A Different Path

by Marinari



Series: Iolarin Chronicles [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Abuse, Death, F/F, F/M, M/M, Miscarriage, Multi, PTSD, Torture, Unrequited Love, Victim Blaming, non-con, this story will be very sad and hard to handle folks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-12
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2018-10-03 14:53:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 37
Words: 71,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10249286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marinari/pseuds/Marinari
Summary: This story follows the life and trials of Iolarin Surana, in which Duncan chooses Tabris as his Warden and never makes it to the circle. Love lost, friends lost and found, and the suffering she goes through while held in the Gallows.The story has no definite pairing in the first installment, but does mention some. This will contain brief depictions of rape and torture, though I have marked those passages for those who need it. This will have many happy moments, and many sad ones. Follows Canon for the most part, with changes to fit  Timeline has been adjusted to make sense, and is marked each chapter.Enjoy!





	1. 9th day of Wintermarch, 9:30 DRAGON

 

 

9th day of Wintermarch, 9:30 DRAGON

Iolarin Surana kept her wide black eyes trained on the ground, robed shoulders hunched as she was led from Kinloch Hold. She dared not even glance back as the boat rowed on, the creaking of the oars and water lapping at the boat the only noise. She felt shame, anger, and heartache weigh heavy on her, and she kept her hands folded tightly in her lap.

Jowan had betrayed her; broken everything she had believed she knew about him. When she had gone to Irving she had not suspected him in the least, and instead thought Lily had been behind the whole scheme. After all, Io had never seen any suspicious signs from her old friend that would point to blood magic. She had simply thought the sister may have been found out; wanted to flee before she had to face consequences.

But she had been completely wrong, and because of her a blood mage was on the loose.

No, not completely because of her. She had gone to Irving, to beg him to see Jowan’s innocence. Though she had been fooled, the first enchanter could have acted then; but he had wanted to catch Lily in the act as well. By then it had been too late, and Jowan was free to flee. Her mind went back to the days before, to her last memories, and Jowan’s betrayal.

 

*******

Iolarin grinned toothily down at Cullen from her place atop a ladder in the library, a stack of books clutched to her full chest as she struggled to put them away. The blond Templar stared up at her worried that she would fall at any moment.

“Surana, this really isn’t a good idea, I don’t see why you can’t just put them away one at a time.” He complained, hands held out as if to catch her. She let out a breathless laugh, shaking her head and turning back to the task at hand.

“You worry far too much Cullen, and how many times must I ask you to use my given name?” She pouted, black eyes scanning the shelves trying to place where the one she held went. “Besides, I do this all the time and I’ve never fallen before.”

She heard him huff below her, obviously not convinced. “I doubt that very much, Surana.” She frowned at the shelve at his inflection on her last name. He was so stubborn and formal. One day she would get him to use her name.

“Ah, there it is!” She cheered, seeing the books proper place in the next shelf over, she leaned forward, reaching out to place the book away when she teetered, and other hand too full to get purchase, she slipped from the ladder, books landing with little thumps as she crashed into the metal _wall_ below.

“oof,” Cullen grunted, grateful he had at least been prepared for the impact. He looked down into the large black eyes staring up at him in embarrassment, dark freckled cheeks reddening.

He quickly set her down, turning away and busying himself with grabbing books to hide his own blush at being so close to the elven apprentice. He coughed to try and clear the lump in his throat.

Iolarin turned away as well, her heart beating wildly in her chest, both from the adrenaline from falling, and from being pressed against the curly haired man. Creators he was strong, though. He hadn’t budged, just caught her deftly. She wasn’t exactly slight either, even for being an elf. She had large set bosom and hips, and extra weight all around that came from being a mage who never had to do much beyond studies. Yet he had caught and held her like she weighed no more than a child.

She snuck a glance at him, flushing at the thoughts of what he must look like under that shiny plate. She had to find a way to watch him training one of these times. She quickly looked away when he turned towards her, trying to calm the blush staining her face and neck. Thoughts better left to when she was alone.

“I hate to be a cliché, but I told you so.” He muttered, handing her the books to sort through. She childishly stuck her tongue out at him, handing him back most of the stack, taking just two up this time.

“Oh hush, it is all your fault for being such a distraction!” She declared, giving him a teasing smile as she climbed back down to put another set away. He simply rolled his eyes at her behavior. He looked her over, as she climbed back up to put away more books, taking in her dark curly hair in a disarray from the fall.

“You really should ask Owain for a cord for your hair, you’d have to spend less time brushing it out of your face that way.” She gave him a shrewd look, running her fingers through the black mass when she moved the ladder to a new place. He was right, her hair was always a mess, and she always managed to lose any thread she tried to bind it with, the curly mass often coming loose from the pathetic attempts at taming it.

“Leather probably would hold it better,” She admitted, brushing it back and pulling out a length of cloth she kept tucked in her belt. She tied it around her forehead, so it would at least be kept from her eyes. She swiped her ears out from under it, raising her brows at him as he handed her more books. “You know, it might help if you put some away too,” she plied, but he shook his head, giving her a look that said he was unimpressed.

“We both know I wouldn’t put them away properly and you would just reorganize them when I was gone. No one knows these books or their place better than you. You could recite every line, I imagine.” There was a teasing tone to his voice and she scrunched up her nose at it, pursing her lips.

“So what if I’ve likely read all these books at least once? It’s not like I have much better to do in my spare time, and they are the only way I can experience the outside world.” She heard him sigh, and shot him a glare. He had started it, this time. Sort of.

“I could do with more books too. Like on the Dalish,” He let out a groan that cut her off and she glared fully at him, turning around from her survey of shelves crossing her arms.

“Surana, please can we not do this? You know why there aren’t more books on the Dalish. They’re a reclusive people who aren’t likely to share much, if they have any, on their history.” He sounded like he was trying to calm a wild animal, and it raised her proverbial hackles.

She huffed angrily, eyes narrowed and lips pressed tight, giving him a ferocious look that might have scared him if she wasn’t so unintimidating. He would never tell her, but he honestly thought she looked like a grumpy cat when she pulled that face; or maybe a puffed up song bird. Now he merely sighed and looked at her helplessly.

“I don’t think that’s all there is to it though. I mean, it’s obvious the chantry would never allow us to have any books that they thought would disillusion us to how unnecessary the circle is. Anything that could point to the Dalish and their mages flourishing without being a danger just wouldn’t do. Blasphemous, in the eyes of the chantry who thrive ruling over us.” Her lips pursed, and she turned her head away from him, frustrated. She had argued this point many times.

“They don’t want us to know there are better ways. Why would they, when holding us captive is so prosperous for them?”

“Surana, please. We’ve gone over this.” Yet each time he had less and less he could say to defend the way mages were treated. He agreed that they were perhaps too strict and harsh. Yet there wasn’t anything they could do, and she would probably get in trouble if half of what she thought was overheard by the wrong people. She barely got away with how outspoken she was as it stood now; being gifted could only protect her so long.

Her gaze softened, but the look she gave him told him she only let it go for his sake, and for the time being. She knew he didn’t like it any better than her, but he also didn’t know the things that Templars and the chantry got away with; he was still so new and bright eyed to it all. They were lucky at Kinloch. Greagoir was mostly fair, and wouldn’t stand to see them cruelly treated. Yet even here it was suffocating.

“I should go see Irving, he wanted an update on my studies.” She gave him a weak smile and he watched her walk away, before he turned to put the last book he held on the shelf. He would have to do something to cheer her up; her moods were infectious and he couldn’t stand to see her upset. Perhaps it was time to give her the gift he had requested.

***

“Io!” Jowan called, jogging over to her as she exited the library. She smiled at him, waiting for him to join her.

“Hello Jowan. Want to walk with me to Irvings office?” He made a face at her and she let out a laugh, heading towards the stairway. “Oh, don’t give me that look. At least he isn’t Uldred. And he just wants to make sure I’m keeping up with my studies while Wynne is off doing whatever the king needs.”

“Uldred isn’t so bad you know. He says he thinks I’m progressing well. I can’t wait until he returns.” She rolled her eyes at him, suppressing a shudder at the thought of that man coming back. She couldn’t place her finger on it but something about him just made her really uneasy.

She looked over at Jowan as they made their way up the stairs. He hadn’t been around very often lately, always off doing something or other. It had begun to worry her, as he wasn’t normally this distant. He had said, when asked, that he had started seeing someone, but didn’t want to talk about it until he was ready.

“Everything is okay, right Jowan?” She pressed, touching his elbow. He gave her a nervous smile and nodded.

“Of course. Why do you ask?” She sighed and shook her head. She just hoped he would tell her when he was ready. There was no point in pressing him until then.

“No reason, I just miss my best friend.” She knocked shoulders with him and he chuckled awkwardly at her.

“I’m your only friend, Io.” He teased and she stuck her tongue at him. “Anders doesn’t count either. He spends all his time either running away or in trouble. Isn’t he in confinement for his last attempt?” He scrunched up his face; he didn’t like the mage too much, under the impression that they were all punished for Anders actions. It had been that way for years.

Thinking of the blond mage made her face drop and she stared down the hall, wondering how he was. They wouldn’t let her see him, and she was worried about him. He never let her help him, though, saying he wouldn’t let her get in trouble for associating with him too much. He had also become so much more distant from her as of late, before his last escape attempt, same as Jowan.

She feared she may have driven him away, her feelings for him too much. Last year he had run, and upon return he was locked into solitary. Only Cullen's arrival, and boyish charms distracted her from her worries and regrets surrounding her long time friend.

“Anyways, have you heard anything about why the king called for the circle to send mages? I hear a war is brewing, but is it true?” She blinked over at Jowan, tuning back into the conversation he had kept up.

“Ah, no. Nothing more than you have. I’m sure we’ll hear soon enough. It can’t be too bad though if we haven’t heard more than rumors though.” She assured, glancing around and noticing they were almost to Irvings office. “Well, this is my stop. I’ll see you later?” He gave her a strained smile, nodding and walking back towards the chantry section. She sighed and headed to go assure the First Enchanter that she was doing fine in all her studies.

***

After her meeting with Irving she had gone to eat a small snack before going back to the library. She had half hoped to see Cullen there, but the chance had been slim. He had Templar duties after all, and could hardly spend all of his time watching over her.

She smiled fondly, walking around the shelves, tracing spines absently as she thought about what to read next. She pulled out and fiddled with the necklace she kept tucked under her robes. She had the thing for as long as she could remember, from her life before the circle. It was a crude thing made of what she thought might be halla horn, to look like the Elven Goddess Mythal. It was the only thing she had to remind her of where she came from, though even now she had no wish to return to that life; her place was in the circle. Yet it was precious all the same. It had been taken when she was first brought to the circle, yet Wynne had managed to have it returned to her when it proved to be the only thing that would get her to interact with them.

She blinked when she arrived at a book on observations of wandering Dalish clans. She had never seen it before, and it was out of place amongst chantry histories. She frowned, scratching her cheek as she pulled the book out and something fell from the pages. There on the floor was a leather cord the length of her forearm, a glass bead attached on both ends.

She felt tears prick her eyes as she quickly bent to sweep up the item, tucking it into her belt to put her hair into later, as she realized who had put both items there. She would have to thank Cullen next time she saw him. He was always thinking of her. It warmed her heart.

She made her way towards the apprentice chambers, book tucked into the crook of her arm. It may have been written by a human, but it was one more book on Dalish that she would soak up, her thirst for knowledge on her people unquenchable.

She took the time to brush out her knee length black hair, longer than when she left it in its natural ringlets, and braided it tightly, tying it off with the cord that held securely. Much better than any of the thread she had tried using in the past, and not as unsightly as the strips of cloth she had once tried. She adjusted the cloth around her forehead, so it would keep any stray curls from her face as she read.

***

She didn’t know when she had fallen asleep, but she was awoken by an armored hand on her arm. She blinked up at the Templars standing over her, dazed and half asleep.

“Come, the First Enchanter and Knight Commander wish to see you.”

“Irving and Greagoir? What’s wrong?” She whispered back looking around confused.

“You’ll have it explained when you get there, now let’s go.”  She hurried from the bed, glad she hadn’t changed from her robes before falling asleep. The circle was silent and empty as they made their way up the tower, and sleep quickly left her as apprehension sunk into her bones. What was this all about? She was sure she hadn’t done anything wrong. No more than usual, anyways.

Io wrung her hands, staring at her escorts with wide shining eyes. She gasped softly when they arrived at the harrowing chamber, looking between the two rapidly. They opened the door and motioned her forward; she did so hesitantly, eyes widening further when she saw not only Greagoir and Irving, but also Cullen in the expansive chamber.

“Ah, there you are my dear!” Irving came forward and rested a wrinkled hand on her shoulder. She searched his face, her brows pinched and lips pressed thin. “As you may have guessed by now we have brought you here for your Harrowing.” Greagoir stepped forward, halting Irving's chatter.

“The secrecy is necessary, and you are to speak to no one outside of this room about what happens here.” He explained, though not unkindly. She nodded mutely; she knew that much.

“Do not worry dear, you can do this. If you want to survive, you must learn the rules and realize that sometimes, sacrifices are necessary.” The first enchanter soothed, smiling at her kindly.

“Irving she must face this test on her own. You will be sent into the fade, where your strength of will shall decide whether you pass or fail. If you fail, you will be struck down before you pose any danger. You _are_ ready.” She took her courage from those words, meaning much coming from him. In his own way it was meant as comfort, and she knew this.

She closed her eyes, and taking a deep breath she stepped towards the pedestal. She would conquer this, same as every other challenge.

***

As she came back from the fade, she stared blearily up at the ceiling, a familiar face coming into view. Cullen hovered over her, his face etched with relief and worry. She smiled weakly up at him, relaxing into his hold as he lifted her off the ground.

“Please take her back to her bed Templar Cullen, she has earned the rest.” Irving spoke, and she thought she heard a note of smug pride, likely directed at Greagoir. She closed her eyes, thankful the test was over. The fade bad been draining, but she had passed. Demons could not fool her. She would never allow herself to become an abomination.

She was lulled into a half sleep as Cullen quietly carried her back to the apprentice quarters, excited for what the future would hold. When he set her in her bed she stared up at him with half lidded eyes. “I did it.” She whispered.

Cullen smiled down at her, tucking the blankets around her fondly. “You did. I’ll see you by your new quarters when you awake.” She nodded and he waited long enough to be sure she fell asleep.

That night the fade held sweet dreams of the future. She was a full-fledged mage now, one step closer to one day maybe being allowed to leave the tower in some sort of research study. To doing more.

***

A few hours later she woke, stretching and looking around seeing most everyone had already risen. She sat up and blinked at Jowan’s face hovering close to hers.

“You’re okay! Maker, we hadn’t even notice you’d been gone most of the night. Is it true you completed your Harrowing? Everyone is talking about it.” He rushed out, and she shook her head, laughing a little.

“Goodness Jowan, can’t even give a girl the chance to wash up before bombarding her with questions?” She teased, pulling her hair loose, letting the ringlets tumble around her shoulders and grabbing a robe from her chest at the foot of her bed. “C’mon, let me wash up and change then we can talk.” He followed her near the tubs, waiting on the other side of the wall.

“Apparently that Templar you always hang around, Cullered? Has been bragging about how well you did. Quickest harrowing he’s ever seen apparently.” He sounded annoyed and she rolled her eyes, rinsing the soap from her hair and chest. He didn't much like Cullen, same as he felt for Anders. 

“Cullen, Jowan. And I highly doubt he was bragging.” But joy swelled in her chest at the thought of him doing so. “But to answer your question; yes, I did complete my harrowing.” She giggled to herself, a sweet girlish sound like a bird trilling, standing from the tub and drying herself off.  She wished she could see his face, the look of shock he must be wearing.

“What was it like? What did you have to do?” He pestered and she peeked over the shabby wall to give him a pointed look.

“I love you Jowan, but you know I’m not allowed to tell you. Besides, you’ll see soon enough. I bet they’ll snatch you up in the night for it any day now.” Io half teased, exasperated with the intrigue of the way she had been swept up for her test. She ducked back in to pull on her knickers and robe. “Help me?” She walked out and turned her back for him to tie the knot on her belt.

“I don’t know; I feel like they’ll never call on me to do the test. I’ve been here longer than you have. Sometimes I’m afraid they’re going to make me tranquil.” He whispered that last part and she spun around to face him. She raised her hands to cup his face, her stare boring into his.

“Don’t talk like that Jowan. They wouldn’t do that to you. You just have to have patience.” She paused and smiled brightly at him. “Besides, you were only here a month longer than me. Don’t whine like you’re so ancient.” She pinched his cheek and he shot her a dirty look as she turned around to pull on her boots.

“I forgot to mention first enchanter Irving asked to see you. Guess you’ll be moving up in the world, while the rest of us get to look on from our shared rooms.” He muttered broodily. “We can talk more later; you shouldn’t leave him waiting.”

She waved at him before hurrying forth, a skip in her step. She ignored the gossiping around her, used to it after all these years. There was always gossip, and there were always those who got some sick pleasure making her the target of it ever since-

Ever since Amell.

Her face fell, her ears drooped and her dark skin lost the rosy color from her excitement. They could kiss her behind, she didn’t care what they said. She shook her head, straightening her shoulders, lifting her chin and continued on her way.

Her heart beat sped up when she spotted Cullen waiting outside one of the rooms in the senior mage quarter, bringing back the thrum of excitement from this morning. She quickened her step and hurried over to him. He smiled nervously at her, looking her up and down, likely trying to see if she was okay.

“I’m feeling okay, Cullen. Don’t worry so much.” She assured him, giving him her best smile, watching the tension bleed out of him a little.

“It’s good to see you doing so well afterwards. I’m glad you succeeded.” He stammered, eyes wide and staring at her face. She pulled out the cord he had left for her and tied her hair back with it, the ringlets held back firmly by the sturdiness of it, admiration flashed over his face as he watched. “I’m glad you found it.”

She peered into the entrance next to him, eyes lighting up at the shelves lining one wall. “This is mine?” She breathed, looking back at him for confirmation.

“Yes, it seems the First Enchanter thought it would suit you. You should let him know how much you like it.” He fidgeted slightly, looking away from her.

“What wrong Cullen?” She asked, concerned over his behavior.

“I was the one chosen to strike the killing blow, if-“ He breathed heavily, closing his eyes and grimacing. “If you had failed.” He looked at her, obviously shaken.

She gave him a sad smile and touched his arm. “It’s alright Cullen. I am glad it would have been you. You would have, if it had happened?” He swallowed audibly and nodded jerkily.

“I would have felt awful, but I would have.” He was confused at the tenderness in her eyes.

“Thank you. I never want to let a demon use my body like that. Don’t ever hesitate if it happens?” She pleaded, and he recalled the rumors of something that had happened to her before he joined the circle: They said she had seen another apprentice use blood magic and become an abomination, and it had changed her. He could see the truth of it in her large dark eyes. Was she so scarred by the event that death was a welcome assurance?

“I promise.” He whispered and had to look away at the emotions on her face. It was too much after how worried he had been for her.

“Cullen?” She murmured, an idea coming to her in a rush, and he looked into her large brown eyes, his own widening as she pulled off something from around her neck. She held it out to him, and he took it dumbly, taking in the horn carved figure.

He looked at her quizzically, and her dark freckled cheeks reddened. “It is a figure of the Dalish goddess Mythal. I’ve had it all my life, it’s very precious to me.” He moved to hand it back to her but she shook her head, closing his fingers around it.

“I want you to have it. Please. I know you don’t believe in the elven pantheon, but you don’t have to. I think she resembles Andraste in some ways, of what I know of her. If it helps to think of it that way. I think you should have it, so she may look over you as she has over me.” She rambled, her hands erratic as she looked down at her feet. He smiled fondly at her, nodding and slipping it over his head. 

“Thank you.” He whispered, and had his breath whoosh out of him at the smile on her face. Maker, she was so beautiful. She was like the forests surrounding lake Calenhad at night; beautiful and mysterious, entrancing. 

She nodded a few times, stepping back and looking down the hall to distract herself from the joy pulsing in her chest. “I really need to go see Irving, perhaps we can talk again later? In the library?” She glanced at him, her cheeks still blazing.

“Of course. I’ll see you then.” He watched her trail away, light as air.

***

Iolarin Felt her heart race as she left Irvings office, thrilled with his praise and with the new opportunities that would be open to her. She grinned at Cullen as she ducked into her room, tugging on her new robes, admiring them briefly, before hurrying back into the hall. Cullen smiled at how happy she seemed, the confident skip in her step as she waved at him, hurrying away to the libraries.

That’s when she nearly run into Jowan, who wore an anxious look on his face. She frowned, losing her cheerfulness.

“Jowan, what’s wrong?” She touched his elbow and he looked around the hall as if expecting a Templar to jump out and snatch him.

“You remember what we were talking about earlier? We’ll there’s something I need to tell you.” He grabbed her arm and began tugging her away.

“Jowan, what’s gotten into you? Is this about the Harrowing?” She barely suppressed the panic bubbling in the pit of her stomach. He was scaring her.

“Not here, come on.” And she followed him cautiously, feeling her quickened pulse where he gripped her wrist so tightly. She prayed to Mythal that he was just being weird and that nothing was wrong. He led her into the chantry, and she narrowed her eyes as he walked over next to a chantry sister – Lilly she thought her name was – and touched her shoulder. She glared between the two of them, wondering if this was some sort of joke.

“Jowan, you do know that’s a chantry sister standing right there?” She demanded, crossing her arms. He gave her a placating stare, which only annoyed her more. “What’s going on here?”

“You remember how I said I had been seeing someone, well this is Lilly.” He finished lamely, and the sister smiled at her nervously.

“And here I was thinking she was just a figment of your imagination.” She bit out, annoyed. This was what he was so worried about? Sure, it wasn’t really allowed but she doubted they’d make him tranquil over it like he seemed to fear. As long as the girl wasn't pregnant.

Jowan glared at her, but Lily gave him a stern pleading look. “This isn’t what we asked you here about, though. Jowan told you he was afraid he would be made tranquil?” Io nodded, still not understanding what this was all about. “Well it’s true. I saw the order signed on the knight-commander’s desk.”

Io gasped and looked at Jowan horrified. “Why would they do this to you? Are you certain that’s what it was?” She looked at Lily accusatorily.

 “Yes, I’m certain. They are going to perform the rite of tranquility. They think I’ve been practicing blood magic, Io.” Jowan insisted, and flinched when she sucked in a hissing breath. “It isn’t true, I swear!”

“I believe you Jowan, I know you would never do that.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I won’t let it happen Jowan, I can speak to Irving, convince him it isn’t true.”

“There isn’t time. Look, Lilly and I have come up with a plan, but we need your help. You have to promise not to tell anyone. Will you help us?” They both looked at her pleadingly, and she flashed to that memory in the cave. She wouldn’t let anything happen to him. Her only friend left.

“I promise. Now tell me your plan.”

***

She had told the two to wait in the chantry, rushing to her room to grab her staff. Cullen stared at her worryingly, her mood significantly changed from when he had seen her a short time before.

“I’m sorry Cullen, I don’t have time to talk right now. I’m afraid I have to reschedule our talk?” She smiled apologetically at him, and he gave her a reassuring look through the frown pinching his brow.

“Of course.” He watched her trot off, hoping everything was alright, or that she would tell him if she needed his help.

***

Iolarin took a deep break, brushing errant black curls from her face, and turned to head into Irvings office. She did not trust Lily, could not believe that even Gregoir could think Jowan capable of blood magic. So she would confront the first Enchanter with her concerns.

“Ah, back so soon, child? Is there something you need?” His kindly face smiled at her, and she felt she could trust him; he had never turned her astray before. She closed his office door, and stood before him, ears twitching nervously.

“When is Jowan going to go through his Harrowing?” She asked sharply, biting at her bottom lip, reddening the flesh. She would not come straight out with what she had learned, yet.

“When he is ready, dear. You know this.” Yet he avoided her eyes, so she pressed.

“Jowan is ready now, though. More than ready.” She was at the point of pleading. 

“I am sure you believe that, Iolarin, but it isn’t your place to decide who is ready and who is not. You are not even a senior enchanter yet,” His voice was teasing, but yet when she stared into his eyes, he seemed troubled. “Why do you ask?”

Her heart stuttered, and she blurted out the truth, a part at least. “He fears being made tranquil, Irving. Some foolish notion a chantry sister has put into his head!” And yet there was no surprise on his face, and he sighed, shaking his head.

“So their dalliance has come to this?” Her mouth dropped open, and he gave her a sharp look. “You think I did not know? I did not become First Enchanter by being blind and deaf, Iolarin. You’d be wise to remember that.”

His words stung, reminding her of what he likely knew of her own _dalliances_ , but she pushed on. For Jowan. “So, you’ve known about Lily,” She shook her head, hands fisting up at her side and a lump in her throat. “Please, Irving, tell me she is lying, that you do not plan to make him Tranquil.”

Irving looked sad then, and all his long years hung about him suddenly. Her stomach felt like a pit.

“Gregoir says that he has proof, and a witness, that Jowan has been practicing blood magic. I dare say no more.” Her looked at her somberly, continuing. “If left to me, things would be different. The chantry-”

She let out a slight sob, hand going to her mouth. NO! She wouldn’t let it happen, it was a lie. She knew Jowan, she knew he would never do anything like he was being charged with. It was a lie. A chantry ploy.

“I am so sorry, Iolarin. The rite of Tranquility will happen, child.”

“Gregoir is making it up! I know Jowan, first enchanter. He would never do anything like this.” She pleaded, trying to make him see, to get him to help.

“Do not speak ill of our colleague, child. You know little of this, and I ask you to hold your tongue, on this matter above all others.” Her blood rushed in her ears, and she could hardly believe his words; he would do nothing to help Jowan, her words were falling on deaf ears, despite his words.

“I will help Jowan. I won’t let this happen.”

“What more do you know?” Had his eyes always been so shrewd? The way he was looking at her unnerved her.

“Lily has a plan, to help Jowan escape. Can’t you see? She is behind all of this!” She accused, anger boiling in her blood, in place of despair.

“Yes, she must be helping him; she would know more about it than he would. Is there anything you are not telling me?” She hesitated, struck off cord by his question, the way he stepped forward towards her. She felt threatened, and on dangerous ground. She could not trust this man.

“Lily told me of your plans, and asked for my help.” She kept her emphasis on the sister being at the center, keeping Jowan out of it.

“I suspected she would tell him, if she ever found out. I never expected they would go so far to make plans, nor that they would turn to you.” She hated how he seemed to suggest that Jowan would not trust her with something like this. She was his friend.

“Of course he would. Jowan trusts me, he knows I would protect him. Creators, I should never have come to you.” She realized the truth of it, and only prayed she had not given too much away. She may yet have a chance, to save Jowan.

“And yet you did.” His words were simple, and he looked at her expectantly.

“What will you do now?”

“If you want to survive, you must abide by the rules, and realize that sometimes, sacrifices must be made.” He warned, and she glared at him then, snarling slightly. It made him take a step back. Sacrifices; the same words he had said to her before her harrowing. Was that the lie he told himself to sleep better at night, while the chantry did as they willed to any mage.

“Not Jowan. I will prove his innocence, just you wait. I will prove she is behind all of this.”

“Jowna will become tranquil; Lily will face her consequences.” He snapped, now at the edge of his patience, brows drawn tight.

“I will not be your pawn.”

“Perhaps one day, you will see this from my side.” She spun on her heel, storming from the room.

Even if she could find no proof of Lily’s guile, she would help Jowan escape. It was clear; nothing she could do would convince them, so set as they were on the rite. She would never allow that to happen. They would take no one else from her.

***

Io took a deep breath as she entered the caverns that housed the storage rooms. It had taken some convincing, but she had lured Leorah into allowing her to deal with the spiders in return for her signing the form for the fire rod. She gripped her staff tightly, her knuckles turning pale from it.

She told herself she was safe, a mantra over and over in her head. It was just spiders after all. No abominations, or Templars, there to harm her. She could handle spiders.

She made her way through, suppressing her panic by focusing on killing the large creatures where she could find them. She made note of where she thought they were coming from and intended on letting Leorah know it would be best to block it somehow.

She had to pause before exiting the cavern, gathering herself up. She could face the memories this place dug up later, when she helped Jowan get free. She imagined there would be severe punishment waiting for her, but she refused to dwell on any of it. Getting Jowan out of there safely came first.

***

Getting the rod from Owain, she hurried to meet up with the other two. They waited until most others went up to the Greathall before sneaking into the basement, Io leading the way, her elf eyes and ears far better suited to the task than their muted human ones.

When they reached the second door she cursed heavily, on the verge of trying to break the damned thing down by shear force. They had to hurry. Someone would notice they were missing soon, and she had an uneasy feeling that something was terribly wrong.

They made their way through the winding halls, fighting the defenses set in place and growing more agitated. When they reached the final storage area the feeling of impending doom was pressing all around her. The talking statue only made matters that much worse.

“There has to be some way through.” Jowan said aloud, panic clear on his face. That’s when she noticed a wall blocked off by a book case that looked about to crumble at any moment.

“Help me move this out of the way.” She and Jowan managed to shove aside the book case, and she looked at the mabari statue nearby. Walking behind it she motioned the other two out of the way before pouring power through to rod into the stone, jumping when the wall exploded.

“Well shite. Someone might have heard that. We need to hurry.” Jowan grabbed Lily’s hand and they rushed into the repository. Io stared around in mortification. So many vials, so many innocents bound by their chains. “Too bad mine has already been sent to Denerim.” She half joked, trying to ease the tension building in her chest.

Jowan shot her a tense smile and they began looking around trying to find his phylactery. “Here!” He called from above the steps, and she and Lily ran to him. “Such a small thing to hold do much power over us.” He murmured, and she frowned at the look on his face. Something wasn’t right.

After he smashed the vial, she led them out of the entrance. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was doing something horribly wrong. This was her friend, she had to help him! It was the chantry, and the circle who was wrong. Using the rite on someone based on mere rumors. Jowan would never use blood magic. He wouldn’t.

*******

Had Jowan all along planned to leave her to face the consequences? Known they had proof of his corruption, and knew she could face a terrible fate helping a blood mage escape? The thought made her sick, and she curled further in on herself.

She had feared tranquility, or the mages prison same as Lily. But her punishment was not just meant for her, and she knew that. Irving could no longer play favorites and protect her, now. Now she was being sent to Kirkwall, where none of her glibness would be tolerated.

She had heard rumors of the circle that lay in Kirkwalls Gallows. They made her skin crawl. Mages had even less freedom there, under the strict Knight Commander Meredith. Twisted rumors of what was allowed to go on within those walls haunted any mage.

Only one thing held her spirits intact, knowing there would be at least one familiar face there, and that she would not be going as a tranquil. She would see Karl there. Though she had never known the man well in Kinloch, and he was nearly a decade older than her, he would be something familiar, something connecting her to everything she had lost. It was a weak thing to hold to, but now it was all she had.


	2. 17th Day of Cloudreach, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin dreams, of a far off forest and cloudy faces; she dreams of cold circle halls; most of all she dreams of a smiling face she'll never see again.

 

17th Day of Cloudreach, 9:30 DRAGON

Iolarin smiled over her scrolls at Karl tentatively. She was reading aloud magical theory, only just the gist of her mastery. He rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest as he listened as she trailed off.

“Truly, years burying yourself in Kinloch’s library has made you rather eclectic with theory and history,” He chuckled. She shrugged her shoulders, interjecting.

“Don’t forget herbology and sums.” He laughed a little louder, and Io set down the scroll, watching him.

She had only been in Kirkwall two weeks, and Karl had taken it upon himself to be her guide and constant companion. She wondered for whose sake he did it for; Hers, his, or maybe even the one person they had in common.

_Anders._

“There must be something you cannot do.” His tone was teasing and she rolled her eyes, sitting down at the desk they had taken over. She folded her hands, resting her chin on them to look him over.

“Oh, there is plenty, I assure you. Ever seen my stitching?” He tossed a crumpled piece of paper at her, eyes crinkling at the corners as he laughed. It was easy to see what Anders had seen in the man; he was clever, kind and humorous. He had a charming smile, bright blue eyes, and handsome even with the early grey.

“Only stitching though?”

His words made her smile wider, and Karl watched as she folded her arms, her eyes far off. He wondered what she thought of, those times when she stared at him without seeing, her cheeks flushed.

He thought maybe he knew the answer.

“I’m fairly bad at cooking too, and instruments. I’m also not terribly good with people.” She laughed, eyes closing and freckled cheeks rosy. “I’m sure there are many other things I would be terrible at, outside of these walls.” He tensed slightly, as her eyes opened at him, those large dark pools endless.

He had to remind himself that Anders had been the one who ran from the circle constantly, and she had never even tried. She wouldn’t run, or she would have gone with Anders long ago.

“I am sure we all would.” He whispered, and she smiled at placatingly. “Will you be there for my lectures tomorrow?”

“Most likely.” She hummed after her words, looking back down at her scroll. “I am hoping to be teaching soon myself, if the First Enchanter will approve my request.”

“I should think so. You have the skills, at least to teach the younger apprentices.” Karl assured and stood, motioning with his head towards the exit. “Shall we break for lunch, and then you can deliver your requests to Orsino’s office?”

“That sounds wonderful, Karl.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Chapter two; it is short. Many of the chapters will be short, to keep everything neat and orderly. Though, if it is too short for anyone, I may be convinced to upload an extra chapter a week.  
> Let me know, yes?  
> Any errors can be blamed on my beta's who failed me.  
> Or me. That works too.


	3. 15th Day of Bloomingtide, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin remembers a time, when she was never scared to be alone, or of the shadows. She remembers when stone walls were a home; though always she has yearned to remember a time when they weren't.

 

15th Day of Bloomingtide, 9:30 DRAGON

A month later Iolarin sat in a small alcove, books scattered about her and quill scribbling furiously. She bit at her lip, shoving black curls from her face as she looked from the books to her notes.

“Ah, thought I might find you here.” Karl peered down at her, blocking some of the candle light and she couldn’t help the momentary glare she shot at him. He chuckled, stepping aside and allowing her the light to finish her note. “You do know the world will not end if you take a break from studying for your thesis, right?”

Io rolled her eyes, and carefully rolled her scroll up, tucking it away in a pocket, before responding to his teasing. “You are right, of course; the world will hardly end. Yet I have nothing better to do until it is finished.” She shot back, picking up and putting books away as she spoke.

“Well, I have something for you. To take your mind off all of this studying before you go mad,” He helped her to finish. “We are helping apprentices today.” She paused in her reaching, looking over at him curiously.

“Helping with what?”

“Fireballs.”

***

Karl watched the way she worked with the younger mages, her calm and soothing voice easing away even his own anxiety.

“Remember, you are in control. The fire cannot hurt you, as long as you breathe and stay calm.” She demonstrated, holding her palm up and letting flame dance across it. He leaned against his staff, accepting that even his older students were too focused on her, that his words would fall unheard.

All of the children watched her with awe, and began holding all of their palms out to mimic.

“Yes, that is good. Now, slowly, release your magic and think heat, light, power.” She smiled at them encouragingly, even as many failed to produce more than sparks. “It won’t happen right away, and practice is the key. Now, who can tell me the plants needed to make a burn salve?”

Hands shot into the air, and Karl watched the Templars watching them against the far wall, eyes trained for any disturbance. Any weakness.

“Why should we know this, if we don’t even know how to make fire yet?” One of the students asked petulantly, arms crossed and glaring hard at the elf woman. Iolarin quirked her lips, rocking back on her heels slightly as she thought out her answer. Karl was intrigued to know the answer himself.

“You have to know what damage fire can do, and know the plants to treat it. Then you learn more about fire itself, which lends to a greater mastery.”

“Why do we need to learn all of this though, fire only burns. Isn’t that all we need to know?” Another student shot, and she took it in stride. She really was a natural at this.

“Fire can do a great deal more than burn, can be used for more than hurt, Gillan,” She gave the boy a pointed look. “It can be used to make food safe to eat, to make certain healing potions, forge arms and armor, warmth in the cold, light in the dark, and even provide healing in its own way.”

She held out her hand again, the flames dancing harmlessly across her skin. “Not everyone is proficient in healing magic, or even in making healing salves. But fire can close wounds to stem bleeding, and kill infection. If applied properly it can draw out sickness. There are as many uses for fire as any other element, and even more.

“But you must know what fire can do, because it is like a living thing, wild and hard to tame. If loosened,” Here the flames leapt up dramatically, lighting the student’s faces and glinting on Templar armor. “It will consume everything in its path. You must always have control over it, know the dangers and benefits of it, to make it do your bidding.”

She clenched her hand, and Karl let out the breath he had taken during her demonstration, the fire flickering out. She grinned widely then, and the last flutter of flame grew wings like a butterfly, flitting past the students who gaped in awe before it too winked out of existence.

“Can you show us how to do that?”

“Let’s settle for just lighting your candles, first.” She laughed with the children, and Karl made note to bring her along to assist him more often, even if she had practically replaced him as teacher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is late you guys. I was really busy and really sick this weekend! But to makeup for it I plan on posting another chapter tomorrow! D8  
> I hope this chapter isn't too silly for anyone. I really liked writing it, and hope to hear what you guys think! If anyone is actually reading, that is....


	4. 16th of Justinian, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin wanted. She wanted to feel the wind in her hair, gravel beneath her feet. She wanted freedom; yet more than anything else she wanted one persons arms wrapped around, her keeping her safe.

 

16th of Justinian, 9:30 DRAGON

Iolarin accompanied Karl every day in the following few weeks. She enjoyed the challenge of teaching the younger apprentices, and it helped ease much of the stress she had over fitting into life in this new place, and over her thesis. She felt also that aiding Karl in his lessons prepared her for her future in Kirkwall.

She had petitioned to begin teaching, as her place in this circle. It had taken time, and lots of thought, but she had decided that out of any other niche, this one fit her. She might have found a place with the scholars and researchers, but helping other mages find themselves seemed right.

Karl encouraged her passion for it, and more and more she took over whatever lesson he had planned for their pupils. Until she finished her thesis, this was as close as she got to having students of her own.

As long as her request was approved.

Shaking her head, Iolarin put those thoughts from her mind, turning her attention back to Karl as he talked to other enchanters at their table. Justinian was half through, and summer in Kirkwall was balmy; hot and humid. It made her hair frizz, and stick to her face. Karl seemed to have adapted well the last few years, wearing fewer layers with his sleeves rolled up.

He had allowed her to trim his beard, taming it best she could. It helped make him look closer to his age, though premature greying couldn’t be helped; he refused any dyes. She teased him for it, and it almost felt like home.

“Surana, what was it you told Barric, yesterday, about defensive fire spells?” Karl prodded, hazel eyes boring into hers. She blinked, looking at the other expectant faces turned her way. She really must have been daydreaming, to miss them talking about her.

“Well, most people would, reasonably, think that fire magic can only be used offensively. Yet as I pointed out before, it has healing possibilities; it is not too much far fetched to think it could also be used as a defensive maneuver.” One of the other enchanters rolled their eyes, scoffing at her comments. She pierced them with a stern look, which she perfected on the students, and they looked mildly uncomfortable.

“How can fire be defensive?” Someone else spoke up, thought they merely looked curious. Iolarin sat a little straighter, brushing stray curls from her face.

“Well, say you were being tracked; fire can be a distraction, a lure. It can give cover, enough for you to work your way from enemies surrounding you on most sides; you won’t have magic enough to fight them all, but making a large wall of fire to bar passage and let you slip from sight is easy enough.” She shifted slightly, watching for tell-tale signs that she was boring anyone, losing their attention.

Only Anders had never seemed to find her rantings and lectures boring.

“Yet also, heat – if not entirely fire – can prevent encroachment, and bar damage from the cold or ice spells.” She clenched her hands hard under the table, to keep them and her voice from shaking.

“Where do you learn these things? You almost sound like you’ve been in the world, to get this knowledge.” The tone was almost accusatory, and a little suspicious. Yet she laughed, making many eyes go wide around the table. Karl simply smiled.

“You don’t have to be some world-weary warrior to gain the knowledge of one, enchanter. Books have many things in them you can learn.” She knew a great many things not having to actually live through the experiences.

It had made one festival night all the better, the things books had taught her. It made her cheeks redden, and she smiled as she looked away from gawking faces. “It might do you all some good to read more.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is that other chapter I promised! I know this is slow going; it will begin to pick up eventually, and the chapters will lengthen.   
> Please leave a review to tell me what you think!


	5. 6th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin waited. She waited for the longing to pass, waited for a time when she'd feel at home. Yet the thing she waited for the most would never come to pass; peace with the person she loved most.

6th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

Karl watched Iolarin as they walked down the hall, her large black eyes pouring over her scrolls, lips moving soundlessly. She was preparing for a lecture today, on the fundamentals and basics of magic. Her rousing speech had piqued the interest of other enchanters three weeks earlier.

He wasn’t really surprised, and had seen it coming as soon as they had questioned her. Anders had often come back to their dorm with tales of how she had torn into some enchanter or other. The man had always been awed by her, and Karl had to admit he had always been curious about her.

She was a genius, though she would never sit to hear you say it. She seemed to think through sheer force of determination anyone could be so smart. Yet even as much as he himself read and studied, he could never retain or recall so much information as she did. And she was clever enough to fill in gaps where her learning had failed.

She would make an excellent First Enchanter one day, he was certain.

Just has Anders had always claimed.

“I am nervous, Karl.” Her voice, barely a whisper, broke through his reverie. He blinked at her, taking in the way she chewed at her lip, how her hands shook and gripped the scrolls till they looked about to tear. It reminded him just how young she was, and how far away from being a first enchanter she still was. Clever and kind, but still so much a child.

He reached out a hand, a little unsure what to do. What would Anders do?

“I never thought you would be the type of person to have a fear of public speaking.” He tried teasing, and she gave him a tumultuous smile.

“You wouldn’t think so, no. I am usually very good at hiding it.” She rolled her eyes, then grimaced slightly when she looked back at her scrolls, straightening them out. “Yet years of people never taking me seriously, or looking far into the distance unhearing, well…” She trailed off a little, a quirk to her lips.

He felt his belly squirm slightly, knowing on occasion he had been one of those people to daze off while she spoke. It made his face color, and she reached out, patting his arm.

“Everyone does it Karl.” She shrugged, and yet the guilt still clung tight to his conscious. Then a memory surfaced, of a conversation years ago.

***

Anders practically skipped into the dorms, a beaming smile curling his lips. Karl rolled his eyes, setting aside his papers and turning in his chair to face the exuberant blond.

“What has you so excited?” He laughed watching Anders sprawl on his bed and rolling onto his side.

“Honestly, they should just harrow her on principle. Girl is a bloody genius, love.” Karl had to roll his eyes once more, realizing who Anders was talking about. “You should have heard her today; got in an argument with senior enchanter Wynne over healing magic. Wynne! She overheard the old woman scolding me on my reports, and proved her wrong!”

The younger man was grinning widely, and had sat up in his excitement. “Went on this huge rant, and now has some of the senior enchanters scrambling to fix their lessons and even papers. She's a brilliant speaker, really. A more clever than half the circle together.”

“Scrambling, huh? Everyone else who tells it say’s Surana is very dull and puts everyone to sleep with her lectures.” He challenged, though he knew Anders reaction before it even happened. Really, the man was dense sometimes.

“Larin is the farthest thing from dull Karl,” He looked ready to fight someone, face flushed and brows drawn tightly. “Their brains are all just too small to get anything she has to say. She never puts me to sleep.”

Karl stood, moving to sooth his lovers ruffled feathers, kissing him leisurely a moment.

“Have you ever thought of why, love?”

***

He came back into the moment when a slender hand touched his shoulder. Iolarin looked at him with large worried eyes. He smiled apologetically at her and she nodded to where they were, outside the lecture hall.

“You’ll do wonderful, Surana. I can only warn you not to drag on, but also remember that some people will always find lectures boring.” He winked at her, squeezing her shoulder. She was passionate, she cared, and was wickedly smart. He knew what Anders had liked so much about her.

It was why he strived so very hard to keep her safe; for Anders.

“And not everyone found them so boring; I think you were the only person Anders would ever sit to listen to without becoming bored or distracted.” Her cheeks turned a deep rouge, and she looked down at her shoes. It made his heart thud, and he wondered how stupid and blind two people could be.

***

Iolarin breathed a large sigh of relief as she exited the lecture hall at last. She had done well enough, and many people had been engaged through the whole thing. She had stayed even longer than expected when a room full of them shot her questions left and right that tested even her limits of knowledge.

No one had seemed to be malicious in their questions, or even dismissive. It had been enjoyable enough, though now the struggle was catching up with her, and she felt suddenly very drained. Being surrounded by so many people with their attention focused solely on her had been nerve wracking.

“I told you, that you would do well.” Io spun around, trying hard to plaster a smile to her lips; it came out shaky at best. Karl gave her a sympathetic look, reaching out to squeeze her shoulder. “You impressed a great deal of people in there. I am proud of the effort you put in.”

She couldn’t help beaming at his praise, which relieved some of her tension. She was so used being coddled or having heaping expectations hoisted on her; her best never enough for Irving or Wynne, and her best being too much for anyone else. Resented and held to an impossible standard. Her thoughts growing maudlin, she had to look away when Karl looked concerned.

“Anders would be proud,” he tried prodding, and her cheeks once more burned red, and she felt guilty under his knowing look. “Oh, Surana; the both of you-“ He was interrupted when a group of Templars ambled past, voices hushed but not enough for her keen ears.

“What d’they expect? Kinloch just let those mages roam free. Think the ‘nulment will reach ‘em b’fore those poor bastards die out?”

“Be surprised if it did. Whole thing fallen to bloodmages? Though with that blight and warden’s betrayal not sure if they’ll be anything left.”

The voices trailed off as the men continued on their way, and Karl barely caught her before she sunk to the ground.

“Surana?” He looked concerned, and peered back the way the Templars had gone.

She gripped his arms, looking fearfully into his face. “You can go outside. Karl, please. Find out what is happening in Ferelden.” Her voice was a shrill whisper, and she had to look away as the tears blinded her.

Not Kinloch. Not her home, her friends. It had to be a lie.

***

Karl sunk to the ground when he came back, shutting her door loudly behind him. Iolarin hurried over, and he could see the fear and dawning realization on her face.

“Kinloch has fallen to bloodmages. The surviving Templars are waiting for the rite of Annulment. That's all they know so far, and the news is likely a few weeks old.” He could barely push the words out, his throat constricting. He watched her stand, arms wrapped around her waist, looking panicked.

Looking ready to run.

“This cannot be happening. Gregoir and Irving would have seen this coming. This can’t- I can’t,” Her words choked off with a sob, and she bowed her head, black curls hiding her face.

He stood, legs shaky, and wrapped his arms tightly around her.

“You can’t go back, Surana. They would kill you.” She shook in his arms, brown skin pale with the worry.

“I won’t leave,” It was weak, but promise enough for him. He couldn’t lose anyone else. He had done his best to protect her, to keep many of the horrors of the gallows from her eyes and ears. He had grown to care for her a great deal, and could not bear if she ran now, only to be hunted mercilessly by Kirkwall’s Templars.

They would never be lenient with her as Kinloch had been with Anders.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! This is very late. I am very sorry. I have been really busy with school and life lately and it has kinda slipped my mind. Hopefully this nice long chapter will make up for it, for those of you actually reading!  
> Let me know what you think.


	6. 12th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin laughed. She laughed in joy as often as pain, laughed through anything that happened. Yet most of all she laughed in the face of those who tried to push her and her people down.

12th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

Since the news reached them of the battle of Ostigar and near collapse of Kinloch hold almost a week before Io had withdrawn into herself, and Karl mourned with her, both fearing the worst for those they had known. Io greedily latched onto any news or rumors of what was happening in Ferelden, any news of who survived. War was brewing, that much they knew.

Solace was turning into a hard month to bear. A fitting title, with so little of the thing to be found.

“I just wish we could hear something more concrete, nothing but rumors of home are making me restless.” Io complained, and Karl gave her a somber look. “Do not look at me like that. I promised you I wouldn’t run off.” She stood from her position by a bookshelf, reaching out to touch his arm.

“There’s nothing we can do, Surana. I know how worried, how desperate you are for news, but the only thing we can do here is focus on our duties.” His voice was strained though, and Io knew he was restless with worry for Anders specifically. As was she; yet she knew the likely outcome. Anders had still been in solitary when she had been sent away. It made her sick thinking of him dying down in the dark, undefended and forgotten. She had decided the moment news came that she would not tell Karl her fears.

Io squeezed his arm reassuringly, then pulled away to gather her things. “I need to go meet with a senior enchanter to finish this thesis. I will see you at dinner?” Karl nodded, turning away to go back to his tasks.

Io trailed down the halls, a prickling under her skin that had not seemed to cease since she came to Kirkwall. It made her itch, but she had put it down to nerves, of being in a new place unknown to her. She had taken to meditating to relieve it, though thus far only deep meditation seemed to work. Karl had jokingly mentioned that he could call out to her while she meditated, or even shake her, and she would not awake.

Io sighed, tucking a stray curl behind her pointed ear, turning a corner. She stopped short when she saw a Templar leaning threateningly over a mage boy, whispering something in his ear. The boy looked at her when he saw her, and his eyes widened in fear.

“You lost lass?” Asked the Templar snidely, turning away from the mage to sneer at her. Her shoulders straightened and her face formed into a nasty glare.

“No, but I am quite sure you are. Step away from the boy and go back to your business, Templar.” She spat the word, striding forward determinedly, reaching out to grab the other mage, pulling him behind her.

“I will do as I please, and you will keep your trap shut if you know what’s good for you, mage.” He hissed the word like some vile curse, and she could feel the boy jerk behind her. She squared her shoulders, looked the man up and down defiantly.

“What’s good for me? You should know what’s good for you. Stay away from him.” Outrage clouded the man’s face and he looked about to hit her.

“Am I interrupting something, Ser Karras?” Spoke a voice from the other end of the hall. The Templar spun around, turning his icy gaze on First Enchanter Orsino. The older mage stared him down coolly, posture rigid and commanding. Io was mesmerized by the force he seemed to wield, no doubt who he was.

“Of course not, First Enchanter.” Karras said blithely, a biting smile curving his lips, and Io suppressed the urge to slap the man. “I was just helping this mage find her way. Seems she got lost.” He lied, though Orsino was not fooled in the least.

“Is that so? Well, we shouldn’t keep you from your duty. I will escort these two where they need to be.” He strode forward, and Karras curled his lip before stepping away from his towering position over her. “I am sure you have far more important things to be doing.” Orsino said pointedly, gesturing for the Templar to be on his way.

“Of course. Good day.” He shot Io a look she was well familiar with, promise of retribution. She would like to see him try.

“I was beginning to wonder if they had sent the right mage.” Orsino commented abruptly once Karras was out of sight. “We received warning that you were belligerent, and would be a handful. When you did not so much as talk to anyone besides Thelka, keeping your head bowed and doing as any other mage, I was certain they were confused. Yet here you are, riling up a Templar.” Orsino turned, raising a brow at her.

Io flushed slightly, wondering what Gregior had said about her. She was not belligerent… She just did not back down when dealing with the Templars. And she spoke her mind sometimes.

So maybe she was belligerent.

“I would be careful how much you push here though. The Knight Commander allows them to mete out punishment as they see fit, and you might not be so lucky next time.” He warned, smiling slightly when she squared her shoulders again, head held high. A handful indeed.

“Someone has to stand up to them.” She said, giving him a hard look, accusing.

“I do what I can, child. But there is only so much power I hold, and I cannot be everywhere.” And he did more than most. “You would make a poor martyr. Our knight commander will not be so lenient as your last. She takes disobedience harshly, and will not tolerate it. Just remember what you risk.” He did not wish to see any mages punished simply for doing what was right. Yet looking into her black eyes he felt a power and determination that wouldn’t be squashed so easily.

Orsino shook his head, motioning her on. “I hope to see you again, under better circumstances.” She nodded, then tugged the other mage along with her. Orsino watched them go before going back to his office, making a mental note to keep an eye on that one. She appeared to be gifted with a kind of willpower he had not seen around the tower. And if rumor was right, she was gifted in other ways as well. It would do to nurture those gifts properly.

After Io had dragged the boy down a few more corridors he abruptly stopped, pulling his arm from her grip. “I wish you had not done that. Now he will be angry.” He snapped, though his eyes were wide with fear.

“What’s your name?” Her question seemed to surprise him, and he gawked at her for a moment.

“A-Alain.” He stuttered, looking away from her penetrating gaze. “Came here a month ago from-from Starkhaven.”

“Alain. He’s hurt you before, hasn’t he?” His face reddened and he looked at the ground, and Io read into that all she needed. “If he ever tries anything again, tell me.” She reached out, taking his hands in hers. “I won’t let anyone know you have told me, and I will take care of it. I won’t let it happen anymore if I can help it.”

Io’s heart broke when he gave her a distrustful look, hands shaking in hers. “I have reported it before. Nothing ever happens but him being more aggressive.” He muttered, and Io tugged him closer.

“I will do something about it. I won’t let him get away with it. Even if you do not believe me, please just tell me if he tries anything.” Her mind flashed to another mage, one she had failed and turned away. She would never let anything like that happen again, no matter the cost to her.

“How can you do anything? You are not even a senior enchanter. You are new here too. You cannot do anything to help, you will just make it worse. They can do anything they want, here.” He accused, but she could see the hope in his eyes. How much had Karl kept hidden from her?

“I will stand up to them. I am a lot louder than you would think. If all their annoyance and attention is on me, the less they will have to turn on you. And anyone else.” She squeezed his hands, giving him her most sincere look. “You tell me if they are hurting you or anyone else.” His chin quivered, and she held perfectly still as he searched her face.

“Al-alright. I will try.” He whispered, closing his eyes. She touched his face.

“Good. Now I bet you have other things to get to. I will walk you were you need to be?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've got no excuse really, besides having a really bad mental health slump. I haven't written anything for part two in a long while, and have just had no inspiration or inclination to update anything. But I am doing a little better, and can at least update this part for you all. I'll upload another chapter every day for the next week, to make up for all the wait.  
> Please review? Give me something, because it does feel like I'm throwing this to the void. Even if it's just a smiley face, give me something?


	7. 20th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin wished. She wished for a cool summer, less harsh winters in stone hard walls so unforgiving. But most she wished she had never known the Chantry's 'mercy'.

20th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

Alain watched Iolarin curiously as she sat at his table in the cafeteria, a smile curling her full lips. It had been just over a week since she had interrupted Kerras’ molestation, and he had seen her around constantly. It was as if she haunted and stalked the halls, waiting for a Templar to step out of line.

She was loud when she did it though, calling attention to herself as she had said she would. It confused him, and he did not understand why anyone would put themselves at so much risk for anyone else.

“You know, Alain, if you screw up your face like that too often, it’ll get stuck that way.” He flushed deeply, looking down at his plate instead of frowning at her.

“No, it won’t,” He defended, glancing back up at her. She raised one dark brow at him, and he looked back down at his porridge.

“So sure, are you? Fine by me then.” She shrugged her shoulders, and ate a mouthful of bread. “I have a while before I have my meeting with Orsino; would you mind taking a walk with me?” He blinked up at her, narrowing his eyes in suspicion. She just smiled at him, fingering the bread in her hands idly. “We don’t get much time for exercise, Alain. I would appreciate the company.”

He had to sigh, brown hair falling into his eyes when he looked back down at his plate. She would hardly be dissuaded. It was easier to just do what she asked.

“Fine.”


	8. 27th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was stubborn. She was stubborn in the face of Grand Enchanters and their grand schemes for her, in the face of Templars who wanted to squash her. But more than that she was too stubborn to let even well meaning people keep her in the dark any longer.

27th Day of Solace, 9:30 DRAGON

Alain noticed when she was avoiding Thekla. It was subtle, but he saw it. He knew that she had spent all of her time with the older man, and now they were never seen together. When Iolarin wasn’t with Orsino or stalking the halls, she was with Alain. More often than not she was with him, distracting him even worse from studies he could hardly focus on.

Another week had passed, and Alain had grown more used to her company. She was less intimidating than he had first thought; she was friendly, and even funny. What he was beginning to learn about her seemed to contradict the way she avoided Karl, and he thought maybe there was something he wasn’t aware of, nor anyone he spoke to. The elf woman was open and warm to anyone who approached her, always ready to answer their questions.

They were currently sitting on a bench by a window where the sun shone through. Her ears twitched at every birdcall and sounds of the waves beating against the Gallows. It was a fascinating sight, as she waved her hands, and her face was so expressive. He wasn’t sure what to focus on, more so than usual, barely registering the words she spoke with a hurried frenzy.

“I’m sorry, I must be boring you.” Her husky tone was somber and she looked away from his face with embarrassment, her brown freckled cheeks redening. It made his belly coil with some guilt for his distractedness.

“No, it isn’t that you’re boring. It’s just,” He fumbled for his words. “You are very expressive. It’s hard for me to concentrate.” He apologized, and she gave him a curious look, head quirking and her braid tumbling down her shoulder; glass beads clinked together, drawing his gaze to them.

“You do seem very distractible,” She agreed, though there was nothing patronizing in her tone. She gave him a wan smile. “At least you haven’t dozed off on me. I'll try to tone it down though.”

“Do people fall asleep often when you talk?” Her gaze briefly flicked to his bouncing leg, and he stilled it. Instead he fiddled with the sleeve of his robe, less obvious with his fidgeting. 

“You’d be surprised.” She laughed, shaking her head and looking down the hall. Her ears quirked, and he saw two chantry sisters whispering together some ways away. She must be listening to what they were saying, and he watched the way her face pinched slightly, and ears flattened, before she turned her attention back to him.

He raised a brow before asking, “Are they saying anything interesting?”

“Seems a grey warden survived Ostigar, in Ferelden, and helped save what mages lived in Kinloch Hold.” She shrugged, trying to play it off as unimportant. He crossed his arms, unimpressed with the display.

“Shouldn’t you be happy about that? Didn’t you come here from Ferelden?” He prodded, and she looked down at her lap, hands twisting.

“This Warden conscripted the mages. Seems they were saved just to be thrown into peril once more. Not many made it, either.” She swallowed thickly, and he realized she was barely held together.

“I am sorry, for what it’s worth.” She gave him a tight-lipped smile, before standing and bowing her head slightly.

 “Thank you. I should be going, Orsino will be expecting me.” He stood quickly, and felt somewhat at a loss. He splayed his hands out, searching her face for some clue as to what he could do to make her brighten up again.

“Join me for dinner, when you’re done?” It was the first time he invited her company, which seemed to brighten her smile a little bit. It lightened his heart, and he smiled at her in turn.

“Of course, Alain.” With that she turned sharply on her heel, marching down the halls and towards the First Enchanters office.

***

Alain was admittedly surprised and touched. He returned from a pleasant dinner, though Io had been decidedly distracted herself, to find a small box on his pillow. Carefully pulling the twine to pop it open, he bit at his lip at the trinket within. A necklace of some sort, that had to rings and a center ball that spun when he pulled it out. It was a crude metal, yet he knew the craftsman mark in the corner well enough. What reason did Maddox have to give him this? 

Then he noticed the messy scrawled note within.

_"One Iolarin Surana commissioned this. Seems a friendly sort, and made me_

_wounder how I hadn't thought to make this for you before. I hope it helps_

_you to focus a bit more during lessons. Let me know how it holds up."_

_~Maddox_

He felt his chin tremble, and he looped the chain over his head, holding it out and watching it spin. After a moment he held it against his chest, rolling the center ball between his fingers as he though of how to thank her. She had been thinking of him, and noticed his problem without commenting or degrading him on it. Instead she had found a way to help. He really hoped Orsino would let her become a teacher; she would be wonderful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Once again. Been in a bit of a rut, so thank you all for sticking with me.


	9. 9th-12th Days of August, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was gentle. She was gentle with those who needed her to be, gentle in her care and devotion. Yet her gentleness would only go so far.

9th-12th Days of August, 9:30 DRAGON

Over the next two weeks Io continued to devote herself to being where it would most inconvenience the Templars. Brazen and loud, she would draw their attention from their victim and onto her. She had the forethought to never outright challenge any of them, always coming up with some excuse for her presence. Karl worried constantly, though she had mostly given him the silent treatment for the codling he had given her, or outright avoided him. What time she hadn’t spent with her self-appointed duties, she now spent with Alain, who seemed to grow fonder of her as time went on.

She had also been spending more time with Orsino, the older elf quizzing her on all sorts of magical theory, prodding her for her strengths and weaknesses. She proved to be well learned on theory, owing to all the time she had spent buried in books, though she did not prove as well in the practical part of his testing. So he pushed and pushed, towards whatever goal he had in mind for her.

“How can you expect me to be well practiced at this? Do you think they wanted us able to actually be any good at defending ourselves? I know theory like the back of my hand, and in theory I know how to cast a multitude of spells. Have I ever actually gotten to cast most of them? No.” She shot at him one afternoon, annoyed with his severe testing and criticism of her abilities.

“You have the power to do so, however. You hold back. What would you do if you were ever in a situation where these spells are the difference between life and death?” He bit out, glaring her down. She matched him stare for stare, her knuckles white from her grip on her staff. "You have more power, and yet you let it go to waste. Do you think others will resent you less simply by playing at normality, as though you are not special?"

He would constantly confront her with why she was so favored, throw in her face how others would have felt, even as she denied any talent. Now this, insinuating that she simply wasn’t _trying_.

“When would I ever need to?! I am trapped here just like everyone else. They will never let us leave!” She screamed, tossing her staff aside, swirling around to storm away. She barely had a moment before she felt a surge of power behind her. She spun on her heel, thrusting out her hands casting an arcane shield around her and blasting out with her mind, knocking Orsino to the ground with a solid thud.

Orsino stared at her with wide eyes, shocked at her quick reactions. Gifted indeed. “How did you know to throw a shield up?” He coughed slightly, taking a deep breath, standing up from where he had been knocked down across the room.

“I do not understand the question.” She stated, giving him a wide eyed critical stare. She did not think attacking her was the best way to teach her anything. Maybe he would learn that, this time around.

“I did not so much as say a word, yet you reacted even before my casting was complete. I have only seen Templars react so quickly. Your tactics were flawless as well.” He frowned at her, studying her posture and the glint in her eyes. She was ready for another attack; he may have miscalculated in the best way to get his point through. “I will remember not to do so again. I suppose I am lucky you did not cast a more dangerous spell.”

“The point was to prevent further attacks, not kill you.” She shrugged. She did not see anything particularly strange with her reaction. When someone tries to evoke a reaction, surprise them with another. He may have expected to catch her off guard, for his spell to hit. Instead she had protected herself and prevented his current attack. 

Orsino was always impressed with how much lay hidden within her; she often showed glimmers of tactical genius.

“You also cast a powerful shield spell. What others are you capable of casting, beyond your supposed skill level?” He prodded, curious. She flushed deeply, looking away from him. Her freckles stood in stark contrast to the reddish brown of her cheeks.

“I do not know. Like I said, I have never been in a situation that called for casting anything other than what I was asked to demonstrate.” It was only a partial lie.

“You are lying, or at least not telling the full truth. You wear it in your face and body language. I would be careful about that, were I you. It can be used against you.” He warned, and was pleased to see her school her face into a more neutral look. She was a natural.

“When I was younger, there was an incident at Kinloch Hold, and in defending myself I turned someone into stone. After that I… received more individual training. But I was never able to repeat what happened. A stroke of luck, it seemed.”

Yet he doubted very much that it was all just luck. She had raw natural talent, if only she would harness and hone it. She would be brilliant, First Enchanter worthy; even more so than he was. She certainly had the zeal when it came to butting heads with the Templars, and defending her fellow mages. Perhaps with enough training and guidance she could become someone to lead nations. She had the heart and power for it, certainly.

“Have you ever set your sights on what you wanted to achieve, in the long term?” She cast her dark eyes suspiciously on him, the spark of annoyance still there.

“What is there for me to try and achieve? What could I hope to become, here in the circle?” She spit the words like a dragon spit fire, all the resentment leaking out. "And you have already denied me my teaching request."

“First Enchanter.” Her expression darkened, and Orsino reached up to rub his neck, foretelling the explosion to come. "Something far greater than a simple teacher."

Yet rage did not come. She simply stood there, calm as the forest, staring him down.

“You’re jesting, aren’t you?” She scoffed, turning away with an eye roll, long dark curls tumbling over her shoulders. Glass beads tinkled lightly at her wrist.

“You could be, given time and determination.” He called.

“I’d rather be the one who tears down this whole system, thank you.” And he believed she could do that too, if she set her mind to it.

***

That same evening Karl cornered her avoidance of him after her lessons with Orsino, only to find her in an already foul mood.

“Karl.” She said stiffly, and he looked at her worriedly.

“I know you have been avoiding me. I told you I was sorry, but you have to understand I was trying to protect you. Throwing yourself in the Templars way won’t help anyone; you will just end up getting hurt.” He tried to reach for her, but she pulled away, a hurt look crossing her face before she cooled her features to impassivity.

“I am an adult Karl. I think I can take care of myself. I am upset that you lied to me, which you still say you have no regret over.” Karl stared at her helplessly, gesturing around him.

“You have hardly seen how bad things get around here. I did not want to see you getting hurt. Anders would never forgive me.” He flinched at the way she jerked away at his comment. He would hide behind someone they loved so much, an even worse hurt than lying to her.

“Anders is gone, Karl. Be my friend, or do not, but do not hide behind him. What if I had been made some hapless victim because I believed things were fine and dandy, and walked unthinkingly into something terrible?” She accused, hands fisted at her side. It had happened once, and she could never bear it happening ever again. She would never be ignorant again.

“How can you ask me to ignore anything happening, when I can help?” She threw her hand down the hall towards the training area she had come from. “Everyone knows Orsino favors me, just as Irving did. They cannot hurt me, I can at least use this to help other mages who are not so favored for being ‘gifted’,” She made a face at the word, as if it revolted her.

“You do not understand, even if the first enchanter does favor you, if you push too much something horrible might happen.” Io shook her head, moving to storm away from him. He reached out to grab her arm, yelping when a jolt went through him. He barely caught the distraught look on her face before she ran off.

She had not cried once since that first night. What had happened with the First Enchanter?

***

Io hurried as quickly as she could to the nearest secluded room and shut herself in. She sunk to the ground, curling in on herself. She thought over the cruel words the enchanter had told her, trying to make her see sense, during their session. 

_“Why do you think he was willing to let you take the fall, why he never confided in you? He was hardly jealous just of you being a favorite. You are better at everything than anyone else; you have raw natural talent unlike anything I have seen. Irving told me everything of the situation. Jowan hated you, because you were better and made him feel inferior. Yet you try to act like you are just like everyone else. You are not, if you do not learn to face that you will lose more friends to jealousy or ineptitude. They will resent more the faux normalcy you play at, than if you just accepted and used your gifts.”_

She hated him for those words, hated him because she knew it was true. How often had she missed the signs, missed the way Jowan had stared after her every time she had gone to her special lessons, acting as if they were normal? As if _she_ were normal? Jowan had hated her, and she had always been outcast. No one wanted to be around her, complaining she was too advanced, too favored, too different from any of the rest of them.

Except one man, lost in the dungeons of a crumbled and corrupted tower.

That thought nearly consumed her with its grief.

Still, she disagreed that there was anything inherently special about her. It was always how she was treated. She was not special; she did not have any innate abilities. Just the time and enjoyment for study.

Io took a deep calming breath, staring down at her brown freckled hands. What was so special about her? She had lost everything. If she was really special she would have done something about it, she could protect the other mages here, or back home. But she was too weak to do anything. Too weak to protect  _him._

She reached up to clasp at her pointed ears, rubbing them to calm herself, a motion she'd had since childhood. She relaxed into her meditative state, closing her eyes and letting her mind wander. Seeking solace in the fade.

She found herself in the dining hall, looking around to find it empty. She liked it this way, so calming and tranquil. Fuzzy around the edges like a dream, but solid and familiar. She wandered the room, ears perking when she heard a sound. She made her way down the halls, a voice calling to her. She entered what she thought was one of the younger mage’s rooms, seeing her tossing in bed.

Io frowned, this was new to her. She had never imagined anyone else in her visions, anyone alive at least.

She reached out, smoothing a hand over the young girl’s brown hair.

“Shhh, it’s alright now. Nothing can hurt you.” She whispered, frowning. She felt a presence behind her and spun around, only to come face to face with what she knew was a demon. It wore a Templars form, but she could sense the malevolence emanating from it, just like her harrowing.

“You there. You do not belong here.” It tried to imitate a Templar too, seeking to fool her.

“Be gone, demon. Tis you who does not belong.” She slashed her hand down, erecting a shield around the sleeping child.

“Clever little mage you are. This one is mine. But I wouldn’t mind a snack.” Io felt the world shift around her, the demon bending the fade to suit it’s needs.

The Templar before her changed shape, taking on the face of another. Jowan. Io’s breath caught in her throat, and she had to make herself look away. The demon was doing this on purpose, calling forth from her mind whatever it needed. She would not be fooled. Its very presence was like an itching under her skin.

“Io, Io, why did you betray me? Everything would have been perfect if you had not gone to Irving.” The thing called, mocking her.

“Enough. I will not be fooled!” She recalled her training, remembered strangely a spirit telling her how he had made real the weapons he kept with his mind. She closed her eyes, focusing on that memory. She tried to picture what it might be like to make real something just by thinking it. She wanted a staff, wanted to make this some other dream.

“What are you doing. Stop it!” The demon screamed, and Io’s dark eyes snapped open. She was shocked when they appeared in a meadow, with smoke like stream and trees, the demon twisting into its true shape. In her hands she held a staff, simply made but it felt real. Had she done this?

“You have no power over me, demon.” She spat, moving into a fighting position.

“I can give you power beyond your dreams. I can help you end the Templars. Just let me in.”

“You cannot tempt me. You will hurt no one anymore.” She thrust out with the staff, lightening shooting forth. The creature went down with a scream, and Io sank to the ground, drained. Then she heard her name being called again, close and familiar.

Before she was pulled from her trance though, she caught a glimpse of a bright light, surrounding her, a feeling of wholeness and love enveloping her

_‘Be calm child. You did well.’_

“Surana! Surana?” Came Karls voice, and Io blinked up at him blearily. “Maker, you are freezing. How long have you been in here?” He rubbed his hands up and down her arms.

“Karl? I do not,” She paused, gulping slightly trying to wet her abnormally dry mouth. “I do not know. I just saw you. Not that long ago…” She stared at him, confused when he gawked at her.

“Surana, that was quite long ago. I came looking when Alain said you weren’t in your room when he went there. It’s almost full sunrise.” Io stared at him in disbelief. There was no way she had been out that long. It had barely been past sunset when she had finished her lessons with Orsino.

“Surely you are messing with me?” Karl shook his head, greyed hair mussy about his face. He looked like he had not slept. “Karl, what’s wrong?” He thinned his lips, looking away from her with a frown.

“Lots of refugees have arrived. Fereldan is a mess, and civil war is about to break out, on top of the darkspawn threat.” Yet his face looked pinched, and that was hardly reason enough for his appearance.

“Karl, what are not you telling me?” She pleaded, taking his arm in her hands. He looked pained, squeezing his eyes shut.

“They found a mage girl beaten to death a few hours ago. They won’t tell us anything.” And it dawned on her, Alain in her room, Karl looking haggard and worn. He had thought it was her. Sorrow engulfed her face, tears pricking her large eyes and she reached up to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Karl. I am so sorry.” He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her close.

“I know I should not be glad it was someone else. I had been so sure it was you. By the maker, I would have blamed myself.” She could hear his shaky breathing, and wondered if he was crying. She tightened her grip.

“I am sorry Karl. I am okay. I am so sorry for worrying you.” He pulled back, though she was reluctant to let him go. She could see now his eyes were red rimmed.

“I am not the only one who worried. Alain and a few other apprentices have been searching as well. We should go let them know you are safe. Oh Surana, many people care what happens to you. Do not disappear like that on us.” He pulled her up and she followed, wiping dust from her robes as she stood. She nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Alright. I promise. Let’s go let the others know.” She followed him out, glancing back into the room as if to see the floating specter she had glanced, before they walked from view.

They learned later that day that the girl who had been killed was an apprentice by the name of Samine, and they held a silent vigil for her. Still no details were given of what had happened, or who had done it; yet the whispered rumors spoke of a Templar who had harassed her in the past, how she had been found naked and broken.  It set Io’s blood aflame.

She blamed herself, thinking that if she had just been awake and wandering the halls she could have done something, could have protected her. That night Io did not sleep. She silently stalked the halls, watching for anything out of place, keen hearing strained for any noise beyond the Templars making their rounds. She was grateful for her superior sight and hearing, able to stay out of the Templars way, and that they had not decided to lock all mages in this night. Nothing happened that night, though nothing was likely to the night after something so awful. Templars would be careful not to be caught.

Io wandered to the library, trailing her fingers over books and scrolls, mind elsewhere when a group of apprentices ambled into the room. She did not notice when one of the children froze in place, staring at her with wide eyes.

“C’mon, let’s go. Stop staring or you will get in trouble, you dunce.” A little boy whispered, tugging on her arm.

“You were in my dream!” She whispered, astonished, causing Io to turn abruptly. She stared at the little girl, recognizing the brown hair and rounded face. The little girl pulled free from her friend and dashed to wrap her little arms around Io’s hips, rubbing her face in Io’s stomach. The older mage stared down at the girl in shock, reaching down to pat at her head softly.

“Thank you for getting rid of the bad man. He did not come back last night.” Io’s face softened, and she knelt down to be on eye level with the child.

“That nightmare won’t bother you anymore child. And if you have another like it you let me know.” She whispered, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair behind the girl’s ear. The child gave her a toothy grin, nodding enthusiastically.

Io patted the child’s head, giving her an encouraging smile. “What’s your name?” She asked, and the child blinked her wide eyes.

“Seri!” She exclaimed, rocking on her heels with a wide grin on her face. “I know yours already. Everyone talks about you. You are Surana! You are beautiful.” Her voice lowered to a whisper, innocent awe shimmering in her brown eyes.

“Thank you, Seri. How old are you? How long have you been here?” She asked, frowning at how young some of the children seemed to be. Few mages manifested so soon

“I am seven. I have always been here.” She gave Io a weird look, as if that should have been obvious. Io frowned, making a mental note to ask Orsino about it next time she saw him. “I have to go now . It was great to meet you!” The child waved, then chased after her friends who had begun walking away.

“Bye.” Io waved shortly, standing straight to watch the child go.

That had been… enlightening. Io had been certain it had just been some dream, that she had fallen asleep while meditating. Now she did not know. Had she really gone into the fade, and battled a demon? Without the aid of lyrium. It was unnerving.

Io shuddered, adjusting the belt on her robes before stalking off. She needed to think, and she did not think the library held any answers for her. She would be careful not to reveal anything to anyone until she had more concrete info.

That night Io fell into a fitful sleep, exhaustion from training luring her into the bed and from her self-assigned duties. At first she just dreamed of nonsense, faces of people she had lost, of people she had no memories of. Then she slumbered deeper, and her mind sought out the solace of the fade once more.

She was in the great hall again, but this time there were no cries beckoning her. She wandered the halls, nerves set on edge despite the calm atmosphere of the place. A place filled with so many atrocities did not have the right to calm, to peace. She stared around her as she passed through the Templar hall, glaring down the atrocious statues lining the walls.

She came upon the doors leading to the Gallows courtyard, and Io braced herself to be met with empty space, having only glimpsed the place once, surely her mind did not hold onto those fragments and couldn’t fill it in. Yet when she pushed the door open, she stared into a space, empty like the circle, yet she had no memory of the area she looked upon.

Io’s black eyes scanned her surroundings, seeing the empty stalls and cobbled walkways. She had no memory of the place, it should not be so clear in her dreams.

“Because this is no mere dream child,” Came an ethereal voice, and Io spun on her heel, moving to defensive stance. She was surprised when a staff materialized in her hands, dropping it immediately. “Surely you have guessed by now. This is the fade.” Io strained her elf hearing to pinpoint the source of the voice, her eyes peering into the shadows seeing nothing.

“Where are you? Who are you?” She called, bending to pick up the staff and holding it in a white knuckled grip, turning full circle in her search.

“Put down the weapon please, and I will gladly show myself.” Io stiffened, panic coursing through her. She did not sense the maliciousness that usually accompanied a demon, but she was hardly going to trust a denizen of the fade.

“Show yourself and I might think about lowering my weapon.” She challenged, eyes still darting about in search. She froze all movement when a light glowed some paces ahead of her, a familiar woman stepping from its depths. “Solona.” She breathed, heart beat racing.

“Not quiet. This form is simply the one that you most wish to see.” The young woman spoke, motioning at the apprentice robes and unchanged face. “Someone your heart yearns to see again. You have so many unsaid words you want to tell her.” Io swallowed the lump in her throat, rising the staff to the woman’s face. Her hands shook.

“Be gone demon. I won’t be fooled by this trickery.” Her voice quivered, and she swallowed again, shifting her stance wider.

The girls face softened, and she looked on with sorrow at the other. “I am no demon. I know you know this. You can feel the difference, what does it tell you?” She encouraged, not moving from where she had appeared, perfectly still and calm.

Io took a deep breath, relaxing her shoulders and letting her mind and magic reach out around her. No, not a demon. Just a spirit. But that did not mean it could be trusted. She snapped open her eyes, glaring at the spirit. “That doesn’t change the fact that you could be a threat. You wear another’s face to gain my trust.” She accused.

“I took this form because this is what you wanted to see, if you want, I can easily take another. More beloved, perhaps?” The spirit stared on, voice and face unchanging in expression, though it faintly glimmered _gold and flax_. Io fought against the urge to lower the staff or relax her suspicion. Nothing in the fade could be trusted. She shook her head fiercely.

“What do you want from me?” Io demanded, narrowing her eyes. Fierce in the face of her emotional turmoil.  

“Nothing. I simply came to talk to you. You are a very curious mage. I do not think we’ve seen many like you in a very long time. Even in that you are special. I have been watching.” A serene smile formed on the spirits lips, and Io fought back tears. She could not remember such a look on that face, the final one burning away any others from her memory.

“I am not special. I am plain and boring and just well read.” She forced out, but her voice cracked. _She was not special._ _If she were, they would still be alive._

“You are very special child. There’s so much love in your heart, so much power, so much fierce protection of those around you. You can bend the fade as you like, enter it as you like.” The elf girl shook her head savagely.

“No. I am bitter and harsh and vindictive. Ask any Templar. Ask Jowan.” Her hands shook and she fought to get herself under control. Orsino had accused her of wearing her feelings on her sleeve. If she wanted to survive she had to learn to get control.

“A façade. You love them all, yet a powerful disappointment and fear of love being weakness makes you lash out. You love so much, you are so forgiving. You are also mortal though, so fear gets in the way of how vibrant you can be.” Pity overtook the face again, and she stepped closer. Io stepped back, raising the staff higher.

“Stay back.” She shouted, eyes wide and terrified.

“Be careful child. Your love and fear can be used against you. I would dislike seeing you turned into what they want to make you. Your love is so fierce.”

Io though of sweet Karl and Alain; of Anders wasted away in the dungeons; of Jowans jealousy; Solona’s anger; her parent’s hazy faces covered in blood. So many people she had lost, or was losing. Her love was a curse.

“You are so afraid to love. You shouldn’t be. It’s your greatest strength.” Io dropped her arms as the spirit stepped closer, reaching to touch her face. Tears slid down Io’s round cheeks, and she reached up to touch the hand.

“Everyone I love dies or betrays me. What good is love to me if it leaves me isolated? If it costs others so much?” Pulled away, and the scene changed, growing grey and blurry, unformed, then rain came from above though no sky or clouds were there.

“Look around you, child. You are not alone. If your love costs anything, it is a price others choose to pay.” The light returned and the world began to fade once more.

“Iolarin? Io, wake up. It’s okay.” A voice called sweet and sad, and Io blinked her eyes, wetness clinging to her long lashes. Karl sat above her, concern marring his face.

“You shouldn’t frown Karl; it makes you look even older.” She joked, her voice raw as if she had been sobbing or screaming. The look on her friend’s face said either was likely. “Did you just call me by my given name?” She blinked, looking owlishly up at him. Karl flushed, moving away, crossing his arms.

“That’s the first time I have ever heard you say it. I had almost thought you did not remember.” The elf mage teased, trying to lighten the stifling atmosphere. She wiped her dark curls from where sweat had plastered them to her face. She gave the older man her bravest smile.

“I came to ask if you wanted to talk theory over breakfast. I-“ He broke off, clearing his throat. He looked back at her, and Io’s smile faltered slightly. He looked so worried. “You were crying. When I called you wouldn’t wake up. Solona?” Io’s lower lip trembled and she had to look away from him, her brown skin paling.

“I imagine you heard all those rumors. She was an apprentice the same age as me, came to the circle same time as I. I think that’s where our similarities ended, after a time. I was different back then. Naïve.” She shook her head, tucking a curl behind a pointed ear.

“You do not have to tell me about it. If it upsets you.” He urged, moving to sit in front of her on the bed. She quirked a smile at him, shrugging her shoulders.

“It was five years ago. I should be able to talk about it without a nervous breakdown.” She patted his leg and pressed on, needing to get it out.

“She came to the circle the same week I did, and for a time we were inseparable; she, Jowan, and I – as close as Anders and I were, it was different for the three of us, being roughly the same age and in Kinloch around the same time. Then one day we just became distant. I was sheltered, but she was not. She saw everything going on. While I believe the Chantry, and the circle, had taken me in and were faultless, she knew better. I think she despised me for my ignorance. We argued so much. I was bitter, I lashed out and got her in trouble whenever I could.

“What happened was my fault. She had tried asking for my help, and instead I turned on her. Because of me she was left alone where he could get to her. When I stumbled upon them, it was too late.” She trailed off, remembering the surge of power, the two statues whose faces would always haunt her.

“So it was true then. You turned them to stone? That’s why you ended up being separated in your studies.” Io nodded, biting her lip. Then he suddenly said, as if struck by lightning, “That is why you were upset with me.”

“I do not know what they did with them. After that, I realized how stupid I had been.” Karl broke in, taking her hand.

“So you became her? The champion of the just, because you felt guilty?” He shot, frowning at her. She gave him a sardonic smile.

“No. At first I kind of shut down; blaming myself. Then one day, I decided I needed to change. Or rather someone encouraged me to see that. I would never let anything like that happen again if I could help it.” She shrugged, grimacing down at her robes. She needed a bath. “You could call it guilt. Now though, I do it because someone has to. Because no one else will.” She stood, rummaging through her chest for new clothes. She grabbed a leather cord from her desk, the two glass beads clinking together.

“Let me bathe, then I will join you in the library.” She patted his shoulder as she passed him, making her way to the communal baths. He smiled after her, wondering if she would ever see of herself those things Anders always had; the world would change, simply because she would make it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nice big chapter for all of you.  
> *prods fondly*  
> Foreshadowing can be a great, and terrible, thing. Remember this, my dear readers.


	10. 11th Day of Kinsway, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was clever. She was clever in ways she learned in books, and clever with her magic. Increasingly, though, she was clever enough to play The Game like the best of them.

11th Day of Kinsway, 9:30 DRAGON

Alain could say he was content. Not exactly happy, as he didn’t think any mage living within circle confines could be truly happy; yet he was content. It had been a month since the murder of that mage girl, and things were settling once more, as they always did.

He was sitting in the library with Karl and Iolarin, listening to the two bicker. He spent most of his free time with the two of them, and it was nice. He was still warming up to Karl, the man being over a decade older than him, but he had grown very close to Iolarin; and the two seemed a set pair again.

They invited him to their studies, lectures, and even their debates; as they were currently doing. Iolarin always won, which never seemed to dissuade Karl from trying. Watching them was entertaining enough, even if most of it went far over his head. He had only just been Harrowed when he had been sent to Kirkwall, and was nowhere near as advanced as the two of them.

“See, Karl? It says so right here,” Iolarin pointed to the tome in front of her, a pleased smirk curling her lips and a chuckle forming deep from in her throat. Karl huffed in defeat as he read over the lines she had pointed to, glaring at them in mock betrayal.  “Toad liver is completely unnecessary.”

Alain laughed at the look of triumph she shot at him, shaking his head at the two of them. “You two really must find better things to entertain yourselves with than the uses of frog liver in healing potions.” He teased, and was rewarded with Iolarin’s bright laugh, her large eyes crinkling shut.

“I suppose Alain is right. Too young to be spending all of our time amongst these dusty old books.” She joked, standing and stretching with a yawn. “Let’s train. It may even get Orsino off my back about being lazy in practical studies.”

Alain stood as well, pleased to be doing something more than sitting amongst the 'dusty old books'. “I am all for that idea. Bet I can make bigger fire balls than you, Io.” She grinned wickedly at him, and Karl laughed as he fell into step behind them.

“I wouldn’t bet against her, kid.”

As it turned out, Iolarin had the biggest fireballs of all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here you are my readers, another chapter. Short, but if I am feeling generous it wont be the last I upload today!


	11. 1st Day of Firstfall, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was light. She was light on her feet flitting through the halls, her voice light and melodious. Most of all she was the light within the dark Chantry Circles and to those around her.

1st Day of Firstfall, 9:30 DRAGON

A little under three months passed since her confession with Karl, the first day of Firstfall coming in a blink of an eye. They could hear the festivities outside the Gallows, and even see it from some of their cell windows across the bay. Kirkwall was lively and boisterous.

Iolarin stared out her own window, ignoring the growl of her empty stomach. A wistful smile curved her face, as she heard music rise up from below. Her black eyes trailed back to the locked door of her room, briefly wondering if any of the circles inhabitants would be allowed to join in on the celebration.

With a sigh, she turned her gaze back out the window, knowing Meredith would be unlikely to allow them that privilege. Her mind wandered back to Kinloch, recalling the same such holiday a few years before; drunken dancing, games, one night romances. She missed that kind of freedom; even if it had been within the confines of the circle walls.

She whistled along to the tune, leaning her head onto her arms. The lashes stung on her back, stretching too tight, briefly catching her tune off key. She stubbornly took up the note again, petulant in her seclusion.

Lashing were one of the favored punishments in the Gallows, dealt out for any transgression a templar cared to make up. In her case she had _innocently_ spilt a bucket of water just as a templar was walking past her manhandling an apprentice. The man had slipped into the puddle, landing on his back with so much ruckus it had drawn the attention of other Templars.

She supposed her smirk maybe had been going too far, and the man had demanded her beaten. Meredith had been only too happy to oblige; trying to keep Orsino’s favorite in place. Afterwards she had been locked in her cell, with only one sparse meal a day; that had been nine days ago.

It had certainly hurt, and she couldn’t reach to heal it herself, forced to go about it the slow way. Now they itched and stung when she moved too much, scabs pulling taut against the scarring skin.

She had left the back of her robes untied, letting the skin cool against the autumn air. The flesh was beginning to pucker, a bright angry red against the pale brown of the unmarred portions of her back.  Healing would be even slower going with how little she got to eat, and the minimum movement she could get in the small room. Karl would have a fit when he finally saw her.

She missed her friends, and cast a distracted prayer to Mythal that she’d be let out of the bloody room soon. She was going stir crazy, locked in those stone walls with no one to speak to; the Templar outside her door was mute to any attempts at conversation she tried to spark up.

She bolted up straight, with a soft hiss and grimace on her face, ears bending back, when she heard the click of the lock. She quickly pulled the strings on her robe, closing the backing. A Templar glanced in, his brown lanky hair hanging about his face, grey eyes glancing her over. A frown marred his brow, before he pushed the door the rest of the way open, showing her the dimly lit hall outside her cell.

“Knight Commander says your confinement is over.” He clenched his jaw then looked away from her. “Warns ya to behave yerself.” He muttered, then turned away from her door, marching down the halls, the ringing of his armor reaching her ears. She grinned wide, grabbing her shoes and tugging them on quickly, hurrying from the room as fast as her wounds allowed.

“Iolarin!” Karl stood quickly, though he cursed when he rammed his knee into the table, and swept her into a crushing embrace. She couldn’t suppress the groan of pain as he pressed against the lashings. He pulled away, frowning and looking her over.

“I’m fine Karl,” She tried to wave his worry away, looking at her other friend who had been at the table with him. “You been keeping him on his toes, Alain?” She teased, though her attempt at distraction failed. Karl pressed a hand between her shoulder blades making her suck in a sharp breath, turning a withering glare on him.

“You really need to stop getting on their bad sides, Iolarin,” Karl admonished, gently peeling back part of her robe to look at the scabs, anger flaring in his belly briefly. Then he passed his hands over them, healing what he could. “There will be scars,” He sounded so fierce, and she gave him a fond smile. Their care warmed her heart, and she patted Alain’s arm when he stood up, worriedly glancing at her back as well.

“You brooding hens. I’m fine. I missed you.” She wrapped her arms around Alain, who hummed in agreement, careful with returning her embrace. She hummed softly, then looked at the table, the strewn pieces of wood and carving bits. She raised a brow. Alain pulled away, flushed in his cheeks.

“We’ve been working on some wood work, though we haven’t been proving too much up to the task.” Karl informed, holding up red and blistered hands. “We’re no Maddox, that’s for sure.” He chuckled shaking his head.

“We were hoping to have it finished by today,” Alain looked morose. “Can’t even put together a simple birdhouse.” Iolarin laughed, cheeks red and eyes closed.

“We are quite bad at building things, aren’t we? Most too young to pick up any skills from our lives before.” She pulled a chair out, sitting at the table and inspecting all the bits they had strewn all about.

“And they don’t really teach any such life skills in any circle.” Karl agreed quietly, setting in the chair he had knocked over in his rush to greet her. He scratched his bearded chin, looking a little embarrassed about the hopeless mess.

“So, how does Kirkwall celebrate Satinalia?” She asked suddenly, leaning her chin on one hand, ears catching the faint ruckus of celebration outside the walls.

“A day and half of raucous celebration, gift giving, and such. Chantry claims the week after is for pious devotion, but I doubt many in the free marches care to do such.” Karl supplied, slowly tidying up. “Meredith does not usually allow us to partake in the festivities, though we do have to participate in pious devotion, at least when the Grand Cleric comes ‘round.”

Iolarin shook her head, frowning at the table. The mages in the Gallows deserved more, deserved to be allowed to celebrate the holidays, rather than watch and listen on as the rest of the city did so. She stood, grabbing Alain by the wrist, smirk curving her lips.

“Come with me to talk to Orsino?” Alain searched her face, but smiled a little unsure, nodding.

“Iolarin, what are you planning? You just were let out of lock down, please,” Karl stood, looking somewhat panicked. Iolarin touched his shoulder, shaking her head with a small smile.

“I won’t get into trouble for this, promise. I’ll be extra careful.” She winked at him before turning away, dragging Alain along with her. Karl watched them go, brows drawn together and feeling rather hapless.

That girl was a handful.

***

“I have already spoken to Elthina, Meredith. She thinks it would be good for the circle to join the festivities, to really appreciate the full scope of the holiday. To really understand the need for piety.”

Iolarin grinned widely, looking over at Alain next to her, who was sweating nervously. She rubbed his shoulder, peeking into the office where Orsino was now requesting, or pressing, Meredith to allow the mages the chance to celebrate Satinalia in at least some small way.

“You will keep your charges in line, Orsino, and within these walls. I only worry for everyone’s safety.” Iolarin rolled her eyes, pressing her back against the wall, choking back derisive laughter.

“Of course, Knight Commander; thank you for your cooperation.” Orsino bowed politely, leaving her office. He shut the door behind him, casting a side eyed glance at Iolarin and her companion. He shook his head, giving her a fond smile. “You have your celebration, Surana. Now go run along and make your preparations.”

Io nodded, black curls bouncing about her freckled face. “Thank you, Orsino,” She whispered, before turning away, Alain trailing after her light springing steps. The older elf shook his head, fondness through his heart.

That girl was indomitable.

***

Iolarin gathered some of the older apprentices, and a few enchanters and senior enchanters; pulling together an effort to decorate and organize in the feast hall. Templars gathered around the edges, keeping careful watch on them all. She ignored them, working through ideas with the others and helping with what needed to be done.

The sun would set soon, and the circle mages would be allowed a small feast and dancing before curfew. Io and Alain managed to scrounge some instruments and found people to play them. Other mages, apprentices to senior enchanters, began pouring into the hall, cautious chatter as they nervously looked at the Templars watching on.

Servants began filling the table, and Iolarin made rounds, checking on some of the others, checking the food and even chatting with a few chantry brothers and sisters who offered to help.

A hush fell about the hall when Orsino, Meredith, and Elthina entered the hall; when they made their way to the head, each took turn making speeches on the importance of the holiday, safety, and piousness to the chant.

Karl made his way to her side, a playful smile on his lips. “Just look at the things you can achieve,” He whispered, looking up at the three speaking. Io nodded, hands clenching and unclenching in her robes at her side.

“I convinced Orsino to talk to Elthina, about allowing this. Gave him some pointers, about how much this part of celebrations was just as important to our faith as the following days of sanctimonious devotion. How it would be good for the health of mages and relations with the chantry.” She clapped her hands with the rest as Elthina finished her speech, and the three leaders stepped down from the stairs.

“Well, so far it’s going well. Now come, take a break from changing the world and join the celebration.” Karl tugged on her arm, laughter on both their lips

That girl was a miracle worker.

***

Plates were cleared away, tables shoved aside. Music roared through the hall, and Iolarin spun in Alain’s arms, laughing loudly. For just this night, they could forget the horrors of their jailors, of confining walls. There were easy smiles on most everyone’s faces, and she danced with many of her friends through the night.

Currently she sat off to the side, catching her breath and drinking some water. Her stomach groaned in protest, as it had with dinner. It made her glower into the wall, hating how isolation affected her body. She kept tiring quickly from dancing, and needed breaks.

So busy brooding on the harsh treatment they all had to endure, Iolarin didn’t notice as she turned around that there was a chantry sister behind her. She bumped into the woman, spilling her water and knocking the person off balance. She scrambled to help the dark-haired woman up, apologies on her lips.

The woman's fair skin was rosy, narrow brown eyes squinted in a grimace. “No, no, I’m the one who’s sorry. Wasn’t watching where I was going.” Her throaty voice was lowered, with the undulating tones Iolarin knew from Fereldan, and her eyes kept flicking around the hall. Iolarin smiled abashedly, brushing dark curls from her eyes.

“I’m sorry, sister. I’m just terribly clumsy!” She laughed, grabbing a towel and helping blot some of the water from the woman’s clothes.

“Oh, I’m only an initiate. Here with sister Patrice, learning how to take care of sisterly and chantry duties.” She laughed, and glanced about the hall again. “To be honest, promise not to tell? I’m hiding from her. The woman… can be extreme.” She slid her long brown braid from her shoulder, flushing slightly.

That explained the unease and distraction. Iolarin smiled conspiratorially.

“No one will hear anything from me, on one condition.” She winked, when the initiate frowned. “Tell me your name, and take a spin around the floor with me.” She grinned widely, flashing white teeth. “I am Iolarin Surana.”

“Namia Cou-…Del-Delmasses,” She stuttered, then grabbed Iolarin’s outstretched hand, letting the woman pull her onto the dance floor.

The two girls laughed loudly, dancing through a few turns, before the music was called to a halt.

“Alright everyone, Curfew is soon. Remember to be awake bright and early enough to help clean up this mess!” Orsino called, and gave a very pointed look to Iolarin, who rolled her eyes and nodded.

“It was wonderful to meet you, Surana. May we meet again.” Namia bowed, braid falling thickly over her shoulder. Io laughed quietly, gently nudging her shoulder.

“Don’t be so formal, Namia. You can call me Io, please.” She smiled again, eyes closed and brown face flushed, freckles stark. “Good luck with sister Patrice. You know where to find me if you ever need someone to spill water all over you and hide you from the sisters.” She winked again, resting a hand on the taller woman’s shoulder before hurrying after Karl and Alain who were waiting for her by the door.

Namia watched her go, awe in her heart over the friendly and teasing mage.

That woman was dazzling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I didn't post this yesterday. But here it is now! 8D


	12. 15th Day of Firstfall, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was breathtaking. She was beautiful with her dark skin and beautiful smile, she was like a breath of fresh air to talk to. And always she would astound those around her with her charm and power, stealing away the air from their lungs as they watched.

15th Day of Firstfall, 9:30 DRAGON

Namia watched Iolarin with a strange sense of wonder. The elven woman was full of so much life, waving her hands excitedly as she talked and laughing loudly. She was unlike anyone Namia had known, even from her life before Kirkwall.

Two weeks had passed since the Satinalia celebration, and the darker skinned woman had invited her to meet in the circles small Chantry room. Thekla had found her while she was whiling away time in the Chantry, offering the invite with a curious smile on his lips.

Namia had been curious, as soon as she had read the note. So, she had agreed, and waited impatiently in the candle lit room, well before the time suggested. Iolarin had laughed, astonished, when she had wandered in on the human initiate pacing back and forth.

“I think I should be flattered.” She had smiled brightly, and asked Namia to sit.

They had been talking for hours, miscellaneous details about their lives here in Kirkwall, and neither pressed about the past before. It made Namia breathe easier, having enough prodding from the sisters and others amongst the Chantry.

“It does sound awfully dull, being an initiate. You sound as confined as most mages.” Iolarin had raised a brow, teeth showing in her smile. It did funny things to Namia’s belly.

“Ah, I suppose we are allowed a little more freedom once we reach the level of sisterhood. But I am use to it I suppose. Even in my life before, I never got out much.” She cut herself off, before diving further. She could tell the mage was curious, but yet she still did not press.

“I am also a bit of a special case. Other harrowed mages are allowed to explore the Gallows, and senior enchanter’s other parts of Kirkwall with supervision. Got into a bit of trouble at my last circle, so until I reach senior enchanter status I shall be confined within the circle.” She shrugged her shoulders, supplying a bit of her own past.

Namia returned the favor of not pressing.

“What do you do, then, to keep the boredom at bay?” She asked instead, watching a spark come into those large dark eyes.

“I have special lessons with Orsino, or I spend my time reading.” She leaned in conspiratorially, and Namia flushed slightly, feeling long black curls brush her thigh. “Usually I wander the halls, keeping an eye on the Templars.”

Namia blinked her brown eyes, staring for a moment dumbly at the other woman. Io fidgeted next to her, looking away with rouge colored cheeks.

“That is incredibly dangerous, you know?” She blurted out suddenly, and Iolarin gave her a wan smile.

“No more dangerous than letting them get away with whatever they pleased.” Namia laughed at the absurdity of it, falling back against the bench with a dull thunk.

“You certainly are different from anyone else I have ever met.” She admitted, peeking one narrow eye at the elven mage.

“Be careful; I might be a bad influence on you.” Iolarin warned playfully, and it made a pleasant warmth coil in her belly at the thought.

“Sounds like fun.” Then she raised a brow, leaning forward with her hands on the bench to look more fully at the mage’s face. “Shouldn’t you be worried about saying all of this to me though? I am an initiate of the Chantry.”

Iolarin hummed softly, and her eyes looked far off. She did not respond right away, and Namia wondered if she had thought better of spending any time with her, until she finally answered.

“I judged a woman once, because she was an initiate associating with mages. I thought for sure that she was suspicious and not to be trusted. In the end, I had been wrong. My distrust of her may have caused more trouble than anyone could have predicted.” She pierced Namia with her gaze then, and the human woman felt as if Iolarin were taking the measure of her soul. “I feel I can trust you.”

“I hope to be worthy of that trust.” She whispered, the words suddenly hard to push past the lump in her throat. The brilliant smile she got in return stole her breath away, and she was eager to see where a friendship with this woman would lead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here ya go folks.


	13. 17th Day of Haring, 9:30 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was beautiful. It left many around her enchanted, though at times it was her bane. She was beautiful of soul and physique, and would capture the hearts of many in the years to come with the beauty of her mind and heart.

17th Day of Haring, 9:30 DRAGON

Namia smiled warmly when Iolarin entered the Chantry room, glancing about to make sure it was relatively empty. Behind her came another mage, brown skin and hair, looking even more nervous. Io gripped his hand, tugging him into the room farther.

“Stop being such a scared little nug, Alain. We are allowed in here, you know.” She chastised, and Namia had to press her lips together to keep form smiling or laughing.

“Brought someone else along to torture, Io?” She teased, brushing her straight brown hair over her shoulder, sitting on the bench she had been standing by. Iolarin flashed a large toothy smile, pointed ears twitching in her excitement.

“This is Alain. You’ve already met Karl.” Her brown skin was flushed slightly, and it was obvious she was happy, and hopeful. “I think all of my friends should know each other.” She said by way of explanation, plopping down gracelessly next to Namia, tugging the other mage with her.

“Is she always like this?” Namia directed at Alain, leaning over Io to peer at him with a coy little smile on her rosy lips. He rolled his eyes, though his cheeks were still red with embarrassment, and maybe excitement.

“You mean dragging me off unexpectedly on some adventure? Always.” He grinned at Iolarin’s complaint of protest, reaching to pinch her side. “My life was more boring and relaxed before she crashed into it.”

“Crashed?”

“I have to say I agree with that sentiment. Everything about her just seems so,” She waved her hands, raising her brows for emphasis. “You know?”

“What does that even mean?”

“Oh yes. I do wonder if she even knows how to be less like that; more normal, quiet?” He was smirking now, and despite her comments being ignored, Iolarin was flushed happily, a pleased smile curving her full lips.

“Ouch. You two are so mean to me.” She complained loudly, throwing her head back over the bench, slumping further in her seat. Namia and Alain tried smothering their laughter, mostly unsuccessfully. “I am glad you can get along so well though.”

“Teasing you? It is nice to have someone else who will. Karl is so overprotective.” Alain teased, meeting Namia’s narrow mono-lid eyes. She winked at him good-naturedly.

“Karl teases me just as much.” Io contradicted crossing her arms petulantly. “Maybe even more.”

“I would imagine he has more dirt on which to tease you with. You ever ask him for stories about her when she was younger, Alain?” Namia asked, smoothing out her initiates robe as she leaned back against the bench.

“He hordes them. Probably likes being the only one with such secrets.” Alain complained, shifting so he had one leg folded and pressed against Io’s thigh and the other dangling off the bench.

“Then we need to find secrets of our own!” She announced, sharing a devious grin with him, that they both turned on the elf girl between them.

“You lot are hopeless.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to micizzle, for being the first person to bookmark and comment on the story! It left me in such a giddy elated mood I am taking the time to add a chapter before my bbq today. Thank you so much!


	14. 9th Day of Wintermarch, 9:31 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin smiled. She smiled among her friends in joyous celebration of life, and she smiled in the face of the Chantry that wanted to break her. But one person can only smile through pain for so long until they don't.

9th Day of Wintermarch, 9:31 DRAGON

It was roughly three weeks later, when Iolarin was at the lashing post the second time. First Day had come and gone, with Iolarin maneuvering another small celebration for the circle.

She had gotten Namia to help convince the Grand Cleric of the idea, a small suggestion that Elthina took to. The celebration had gone well enough, it had been small and simple; yet a blessing nonetheless.

The problem was the Templars; many who seemed rather upset with the new ‘freedoms’ the mages were being allowed. They took to finding any excuse to punish any mage, or anyone that got in their way.

Namia was visiting the circle, and being around Iolarin had made her a bit brazen. She had intervened when she saw a Templar manhandling one of the apprentices. He had backhanded her, just as Iolarin was coming around the corner.

Io had only shoved him, and another Templar vouched that she hadn’t been attacking the man, only defending a sister who had been wrongly attacked; but all the same she needed to be made an example of. She had been locked in confinement for a week, before being allowed out again.

Namia had been forbidden from entering the circle without another sister present. Both women denied knowing one another, to protect the other from further retribution.

Iolarin laid in bed, voice still a whisper and raw even a week later. She had received thirty lashes, and screamed until her voice left her. Much of her confinement had been lying in bed on her belly. She hadn’t even had the strength to leave her room when she was finally allowed; Karl had come to her.

His hands ceased their healing, and Iolarin gave him a thankful look, guilty at the worry and fear that she could see in every line of his face. She reached up, cupping one of his bearded cheeks. He closed his eyes, sighing heavily.

“I’m sorry for worrying you, Karl.” She whispered, smiling slightly at him, hoping to ease some of his tension.

“Trouble just follows you around. I swear, I’m more grey since you got here; you’re going to send me to an early grave.”  He whispered, shaking his head and hunching over.

She laughed breathily, closing her eyes and rolling onto her now healed back. She looked up at the ceiling, waiting for the world to stop spinning. Karl grabbed some water, helping her drink it down, with a piece of bread.

“Too bad magic can’t take care of hunger,” She joked half-heartedly. Karl rolled his eyes, huffing slightly. “I wonder what we’ll have for dinner tonight?” She mused aloud, her voice was gravelly even to her own ears. It made her sigh.

“Forget about supper, I’ll ask one of the Templars to bring some food now,” He went to stand but she grabbed at the hem of his sleeve, shaking her head firmly.

“I can get it myself, Karl.” She whispered stubbornly, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. She was determined to ask nothing of any Templar. Determined to show no more weakness.

The older man sighed, running a hand through his short-cropped hair. “I’m still coming with you.” He muttered, and she nodded, relenting to that much. He helped her stand, and she kept a firm grip on his upper arm as they walked through the halls.

Alain was on them as soon as they entered the dining hall, face all scrunched up, arms full of food. “The cook gave me some food, I-I thought you might want some,” He stumbled, and Karl lurched forward to help steady him, clicking his tongue.

“Slower, Alain. You’ll hurt yourself in your hurry, or Iolarin-“ He hissed slightly when the elf woman pinched his arm, looking at him harshly.

“I’m fine Karl, be nice,” She admonished. She carefully took some of the food from Alain’s arms, and nodded towards the doors. “Let’s go eat in the library.” She suggested. Both men nodded, following her slowly and keeping up a small chatter to fill her head.

She ate slowly, deliberately, with lots of water to help keep her stomach calm. The boys discussed magical theory, not pushing her for more than her occasional noncommittal grunt or hum.

“My instructors are making me write grueling assignments, on all this theory on primal magic; the stuff is so dull.” Alain complained, nudging a small stack of books on history, theory and practical work of the Primal class of magic.

Iolarin peered over at his work, placing another piece of bread and cheese in her mouth. She chewed slowly, eyes scanning through what he already had written in messy scrawl.

“Well, it’s really all just elemental, mostly offensive, with one defensive spell in the earth class of the specialization.” She rambled around the food in her mouth, earning a slight disapproving look from Karl. “It all works and is based on calling forth from the elements around you, and pouring spiritual energy into it to make it do as you please.”

Alain listened on, a little gob smacked as she rattled off theory and practicality as if she had all the books mesmerized – all the time spent around her, and he was still amazed at times how much she knew. Even Karl listened in attentively, making small notes on a piece of paper.

The younger man scrambled to do the same, as she all but wrote his assignment for him, putting all he needed into words he could understand. She smiled as she spoke, and her voice gained some confidence.

“How do you remember all of this so well Iolarin?” Karl asked, laughing in shock. Io grinned at him, shrugging her shoulders.

“I spent all my time in the library, growing up, Karl. I read more books than I could even count, again and again.” She looked at the shelves around them, more opportunity and learning.

“I always assumed that had to be an exaggeration; a fib on Anders part.” He murmured, and she looked back at him, seeing the wistfulness as he spoke the blond mages name. She looked down at her hands, swallowing thickly.

She had met Anders in the Library; it was where they always spent their time. It had always been her haven; so many memories were tied amongst those shelves. Like a stolen kiss, glass beaded cord, first meetings.

“It is certainly impressive Io; I don’t think I could spend all my time reading.” Alain chipped in, not noticing the melancholy between the two. “Not that we get to do much else.” He added moodily.

Io reached out, patting his arm. “You could always take up knitting?” She teasingly suggested. He glowered at her, crossing his arms.

“I played racket ball at Starkhaven.” He muttered, and Iolarin couldn’t help the laugh that bubbled in her throat. He huffed, cheeks in hand. “Oh, laugh away. Bet you’ve never done an ounce of exercise in your life, lazy elf.”

She rolled her black eyes, brushing curls from her face. “Never had much chance. Kinloch was a bloody tower in the middle of a lake that we were never allowed in. My exercise? Going up and down those bloody stairs all the time.” She waved a hand dramatically, making both men smile. “Going from the apprentice quarters to the library and back with loads of books? Surprised my back never gave out.”

“I distinctly remember that’s because you always had Anders or that other apprentice carry them for you.” Karl interrupted, voice light with laughter. “He complained all the time that you only kept them around to use as pack mules.” All three laughed, tears springing to their eyes at his next comment; “I do believe you’ve replaced them with us for that job!”

“You’re too right! All you lot are good for.” She managed, gasping for breath. “Next I’ll make you give me piggyback rides around the circle.” Iolarin suggested.

“Only if you want dropped down a flight of stairs,” Alain warned. She wiggled her brows at him.

“I’d take you down with me.”

“You both are the reason I am prematurely grey,” Karl accused, though he was still chuckling.

“Maybe I should be carrying your books Karl; I hear the elderly are rather frail.” She turned her smirk and playfulness onto him and he rolled his eyes exaggeratingly.

“Watch out, young’un. You should respect your elders.” He rejoined, and Iolarin broke into throaty giggles again. It warmed both men, who watched her fondly as she wiped away the tears beading on her lashes.

She had missed them both so much. She didn't know how she would manage without them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, things are coming to a head soon my friends. Be prepared for the worst, ya? But thank you all for reading, and to the lovely micizzle for your continued comments!


	15. 18th Day of Wintermarch, 9:31 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin thought. She thought of many things found deep within books, she thought of the injustices mages faced every day. Every day, most of all, she thought of a man with blond hair and brown eyes.

18th Day of Wintermarch, 9:31 DRAGON

Nine days after her confinement Iolarin was in the small chantry room for mages, catching Namia’s eye. The other woman was reading over the chant with sister Patrice, and acted as though nothing was out of the ordinary.

The glass beads dangling from her hair clinked softly as Iolarin sat in one of the back benches, listening and waiting. She kept her eyes lowered, so the sister wouldn’t catch any of her eye rolls.

She honestly thought most of the chant was pure nug shit, a terror tactic used to justify the oppressing and abuse of mages.

But she also knew it was better to keep those thoughts to herself. Only Anders had ever really shared her vitriolic view of the chantry, and she didn’t really care much for debates on the subject.

Namia lingered only a second by the bench she sat on, slipping the letter against the back, before following closely at Patrice’s heels. Iolarin slid to the edge of the bench, slipping the letter into her sleeve. She waited until all the others were trailing from the room before standing to do the same.

When she was safely back in her room she pulled out the letter, going to her small desk to read over the neat scrollwork. Namia had the best penmanship Iolarin had ever seen, and it often made her wonder at the woman’s past. She wouldn’t press though, merely hope the other would open up when they were ready.

Most of the letter was just rambling about how boring it was working under Patrice, and a brother named Sebastian getting on her nerves. Then she wrote of events in Ferelden; the war coming to a head, the elven warden gathering an army and some man with claim to the throne.

So much came into the chantry, though some of it was hard to distinguish from fiction. Namia shared what she could, and what she thought couldn’t be too outlandish. She wrote of the fire in Starkhaven’s circle, and disturbing rumors about the deaths of the royal family.

Namia had learned, listening in to Patrice talking to a Templar, that there were survivors in Kinloch, who backed the Wardens call for aid. It made the blood rush in Iolarin's ears, and she had to close her eyes. Those rumors were true, then.

Her prayers were for two men, men she cared for dearly and yearned to see again; just that they were alive, safe, happy.

Namia noted at the end of her letter that there was potential for sisterhood soon, meaning she could come and go from the circle more freely.

Iolarin reread the letter once more, before holding it flat in her palm letting fire consume it. Better to be safe than sorry, regarding secret letters; as innocuous as they were.

She began writing her response, dipping her pen into its pot, chewing absently at the end of it. Her mind was stuck on Kinloch, heart yearning for it’s warm surrounding walls, yearned for the peace she had while there.

She missed Anders, more than she could ever put into words; he had been her friend for years, her closest friend within those stone walls. She had been angry with him, the last time he had escaped. But more than anger was embarrassment, and now she would never have the chance again to see him, or make it right.

Then she thought of Cullen, the Templar boy she had so fancied; she hoped he was well, happy. She wished she had had a chance to say goodbye to him; to say any of the things she had wanted to say to him. Another chance she would never have, and it stung deeply.

Yet she did have friends here, and people who needed her. So, for them, she set the longing aside, focusing on the chances she had now.

_Namia,_

          _I hope you get your sisterhood soon, you certainly deserve it with how much Patrice puts you through. It is reassuring to hear Kinloch and its mages survived; now if only the war would end and bring such news for the rest of Ferelden._

She began writing, humming a soft tune as the words flooded from her pen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoy; not much happening yet, but it is getting there.


	16. 18th Day of Guardian, 9:31 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin settled. She settled among dusty old books deep in the libraries, she settled down for deeper slumber at night. Now she settled easily into this life with her friends, unknowing of the change about to come.

18th Day of Guardian, 9:31 DRAGON

Iolarin felt a sort of contentment settling in her soul, as she watched her friends chat amongst themselves. It was a rare day where Namia had been allowed to come into the Gallows unattended; if you did not count Sebastian. He hardly mattered though, swept from the room quickly by another sister. The man had been prickly, since news of his family’s death, and Namia seemed happy enough to see him go.

She did defend that he wasn’t always so bad, and maybe just a little spoiled. Iolarin didn’t much care one way or another about what he might be like, though she sympathized with the pain of his loss. But his hurry from the room let Iolarin steal Namia away for a time.

Now they were huddled in an empty room, which smelt dust of disuse. Her friends were telling humorous stories about things that had happened since they had last all spoken.

Iolarin leaned back, closing her eyes and just listening to the sound of their voices. She could learn to be happy here, with these people. They were all so very dear to her, and she would do anything to protect them.

“Have we bored you to sleep, Io?” Karl asked, leaning over her with an amuse twist to his smile. She reached up to yank at his greying beard, giggling slightly at the grunt he gave.

“I am not asleep, Karl. I would have thought you might have by now though. You know, you elderly, always falling asleep mid conversation.” He glared at her teasing, and she felt warm with the familiarity of it. She was glad to have found such friendship again.

She would be lost without it.

“You look happy.” Namia said softly, giving Iolarin a small smile when she sat up.

“You know, I think I am.” She laughed, and her friends all smiled at her amusedly, Alain reaching out to kick at her boots, grinning widely at her.

“Good to hear. We would all be awfully wounded if you weren’t. We do try very hard.” And they all laughed again, and Iolarin hoped they had the chance to do this again.

She never wanted to lose this feeling.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love you all my readers. In the updates to come, remember that.  
> This is about the time I remind you to look at the warnings, and to tell you this has been a story that is my own in some way. Keep that in mind, and know I do not glorify abuse or the harm done to others, but also they are very real things I am trying to come to terms with, and this story is how I have tried to do so with my own trauma. I will have warnings, and I ask you all to take care of yourself, and perhaps not read any more if any of the sensitive material in the warnings and tags could deeply upset you.


	17. 9th – 12th Days of Drakonis, 9:31 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin wept. She wept for those she had lost, and for the suffering she saw around her. And now she wept for herself, and those things done to her.  
> But she would live on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay my dear readers, the story is taking a turn now. I ask you all to remember that I do not condone the actions that take place in this chapter and others, and that the victim blaming is in no way true; merely the thoughts of a trauma survivor. I have marked the most disturbing passage, if you want to skip over it. Be safe while reading, and remember there is always a light at the end of the tunnel, no matter how dark and long. 
> 
> Trigger warnings for rape, physical violence, and victim blaming.

9th – 12th Days of Drakonis, 9:31 DRAGON

It was early in the month of Drakonis, spring was settling in around them, and Io waved goodbye to Karl and Alain, hurrying from the library. It had been over a month since the blight had been defeated, and there was a rumor that a new Templar had been assigned there from Fereldan, among a batch of new recruits.

Namia’s latest letter had even confirmed as much, including some teasing with her next reply over Iolarin’s enthusiasm. Io hoped to catch a glimpse of them, this new batch of Templars, a tightening in her chest at who it could be. She wandered the halls, eyes and ears out for any hint of the man she searched for.

So much had happened since she had last seen him, and she played with the beaded leather cord in her hair thinking about what she might say. Her chest ached, and she wondered if he would think of her any differently. A year was a long time for feelings to change, and so much must have changed. She shook her head, determined to stay positive.

She turned a corner and froze in her tracks. He stood at the end of the hall, another Templar walking away. He did not see her yet, and she swallowed past the lump in her throat. She pushed herself on, walking almost woodenly. When she was closer, she called to him, not too loud.

“Cullen?” His head snapped towards her, the helmet under his arm dropping to the floor. She did not read the look in his eyes, mistaking the widening for simple surprise, maybe even naively for joy. She hurried forward, wrapping her arms around him. “I had hoped it was you.”

She only had a moment, barely registered the stiffness of his posture, the heavy breathing, before the breath was knocked out of her and she was slammed into the wall behind him. This time she took in the wild look in his eyes, her own watering as she gasped for breath under his hold on her neck. Her fingers digging into his armor uselessly.

“Demon.” He hissed, leaning forward to sneer in her face. She flinched away, turning her eyes from the hatred marring his once boyish features.

“You - are hurting me.” She whimpered, trying futilely to push him away. “Cullen - please.” She gasped, turning her eyes back on him, pleading, confused. In an instant, he stepped back, shoulders shaking, hands clenched at his sides.

“Surana. Stay away.” He bit out, storming away from her and down the hall. She sank to her knees, curling in on herself, tears streaming down her face.

That’s how Karl found her, some hours later.

“Iolarin. What’s wrong? Maker, what happened?” He knelt next to her, inspecting the bruising on her neck and red rimmed eyes. She shook her head, reaching up to wrap her arms around his neck.

“Take me to my room. Please do not ask anything else.” She whispered, heartbroken. She clutched to her friend as he scooped her up, carrying her down the halls.

“I am here, whenever you want to talk.” Karl whispered, dragging the blanket around her shoulders. He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, then stood and walked over to the door. He cast her one more worried glance before shutting the door behind him, leaning against it heavily.

Io clutched the blanket between whitened knuckles, chin trembling. With one hand, she traced the tender flesh at her neck, and she clenched her eyes tightly shut at the memory of the anger, _hatred_ , on Cullen’s face. She needed to talk to him, find out what was wrong.

Did he really hate her? Why? She hoped she could make things right, her heart aching for the boy she had fawned over. She still had so many things she wanted to tell him.

With those thoughts, she fell into a fitful sleep, nightmares of losing those she loved swarming her. Mocking voices of demons even the spirit that always visited her could not keep out.

***

The next day Io deflected any concerns over the bruising, shying away from any Templars and the possibility of seeing Cullen again. She was not ready to face him yet. For the most part she spent her day holed up in the library, burying herself in her research, writing her letter back to Namia.

She wondered if she should tell the other girl about Cullen, about her excitement at the possibility of seeing someone she knew form Kinloch. Too many thoughts and feelings muddled her head, and she wrote a quick reply, tucking it in her robe pocket. Then she turned her attention back to research, hoping to find peace there.

Her reading was futile though, for she could hardly focus on any of the words in front of her, and when she had to re-read the same sentence for a sixth time she resigned herself to going to bed. It was late enough, and she might get in trouble as it was for how long she had stayed.

She wondered if Karl would be waiting for her, as he had become prone to. He worried so much, had assigned himself her caretaker. He seemed under the impression that she would always come back covered in lashings.

Io shook her head, smiling at the absurd notion. It had only happened twice, but now he fretted constantly. She was surprised he ever let her out of his sight. Even Alain had started to mother hen her, and tried dragging Namia into it when she had introduced them all.

She exited the library as quietly as she could, keeping her ears open to the sound of approaching armored feet. She was close to the hall with her quarters, rounding a corner, when she nearly rammed into him.

Io froze, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape as she backed away from the blond man. He glared her down, squaring his shoulders. She wondered if he had just come from the baths, the state of his damp limp curls and lack of armor suggesting as much. And the towel slung damp around his shoulders.

Io clutched her hands against her chest, heart beating wildly, chastising herself for not hearing him.

“Sorry, Cullen.” She stammered, looking away from him, her heart hammering in her chest so loudly she was sure everyone could hear it. She was sure he must hear it at least. “I am heading to my rooms.” She bowed her head, and moved to go around him. His hand shot out and he gripped her arm, the strength of it making her flinch.

“I told you to stay away. Do you enjoy taunting me?” His voice was a harsh whisper and he forced her around to face him. She stared wide eyed up at him. “Here you are, flesh and blood, bringing up the nightmare of that place and what they did to me.” Her lips trembled, and she tried to pull away, the snarl on his face tearing at her heart.

“Cullen, please, you are scaring me.” She whispered, gazing up with teary eyes, dim torchlight showing him his reflection within them. He certainly looked fierce. Monstrous.

“Scaring you? Do you have any idea, any notion, of what happened? Because of you!” She gasped, teetering as he spun them around, pressing her against the wall. She trembled as his fingers dug into her arms, looking away from the hatred marring his face.

“All because of you. For days, I watched my fellows die around me, while they kept me alive to taunt me. With thoughts and images of _you_.” He reached up with one hand to grip her face, making her look up at him. Tears slipped down her face, and he could feel her trembling underneath his hands. “I can not escape you. Your kind are monstrous, and I let myself be seduced by your evil.” Io whimpered as his nails dug into her jaw, trying to push him away. Her arms felt so weak against the steely strength of him.

“Let me go. I have no idea what you are talking about.” She struggled, nails digging ineffectively into his chest.

“No idea? You taunt me, haunt my dreams. If I had just taken you, maker, they would have had nothing to torment me with. I thought you something pure, too good to touch.” He growled, and Io gasped in fear as he pressed into her. His hand clamped around her mouth, blocking her scream. “But you are nothing. Tainted. I will not let you taunt me anymore. You will never be used to torment me again.” He gripped her hair, hand around her mouth to stop her screams as he shoved her into the empty room nearby.

 

*TW*

 

The mage cried out as he shoved her onto the floor, barring the door behind him. She struggled onto her feet, fighting the panic welling in her. This couldn’t be happening.

“Please, Cullen, do not do this-“ He backhanded her, and she crumpled to the ground. She felt the oppressing force as he suppressed her magic, leaving her defenseless. There was a crazed look in his eyes, and Io had the stray wonder, of what had been done to him, before fear pressed out all but the thought that she had to escape.

“We were too lenient with you. And good people lost their lives because of it.” He reached out, wrapping her braid around his hand, jerking her up against him by it. She cried out, voice echoing around the bare room. “No more.” He whispered in her ear, and Io sobbed as he tore her robe, wrenching it from her body.

“Stop, please, do not do this. Cullen, please,” She begged over and over, her cries unacknowledged as he bared her to the cold air and pressed her into the ground.

“You will not tempt me again.” He pressed his lips against hers, biting at them and drawing blood. He freed himself from his pants, wrenching her legs open against her struggles.

Her cries fell to silent pained sobs as he pressed into her, tearing her. He grunted, rutting into her.

“You are mine.” He hissed, taking pleasure in her pain and in being the first to taste her. “Look at how you bleed for me.”

Her mind fled into itself, and she buried herself in thoughts of another, gentler time. She took only one solace; despite what he might pride himself in, he was not her first, he did not own her; whatever love that had been his shattered. She sobbed, aching for a sly toothy smile and gentle hands.

When he was finished with her he stood, adjusting himself back into his pants, his seed seeping with the blood from her as she curled into a trembling ball.

 

*TW end*

 

She lay there for hours after he left, hollow inside. She felt like her heart had been torn from her chest. Eventually her mind returned, and she wrapped her tattered robe around her, not wanting Karl or Alain to find her this way. Knowing they would come looking eventually.

She managed to make her way back to her rooms unnoticed, and she scrubbed at her flesh until it was raw with the wash bin and rag. She lit her robes aflame, clutching her letter to Namia to her wet chest, watching the flames consume the evidence. Then she shoved the letter under her mattress, not knowing when she could give it to the other woman.

More than ever she wanted to be back in Kinloch; with Jowan, and all her friends, family. With Anders.

She curled into her bed afterwards, wrapped in her blanket, and she fought sleep. It won over, entombing her in nightmares, making her relive over and over what had been done to her.

“Child, Iolarin Surana. You must fight it. Do not let it break you. Do not let it harden your heart.” She shrunk away from the voice, the once welcome warmth of the spirit, shutting it away from her. She fell deeper into the nightmares.

***

She wandered around throughout the day unaware of anything going on around her, drawing concern from her friends and especially Karl. Yet when pressed she denied anything was wrong. Karl knew something must have happened, especially when she panicked at being left alone, tears in her eyes and voice calling out to them breaking. Karl made sure that if he was not with her Alain or one of the others were.

Alain took him aside that night after they walked Io to her rooms. “What do you think is wrong? I have never seen her like this. What could have happened?” Karl sighed, looking at the room and wondering what to say. He could hear the fear in the younger boy’s voice, and he knew why: what could do this to the usually loud and vibrant woman? The thought sent a shiver of dread down his spine. Even the lashings and isolation had not broken her spirit like this.

Io curled further into her bed, shame roiling in her belly. She tore at the bed cloth, ripping strips into it. She felt shame over what she had let happen to her. She was stronger than that. She should have fought harder. She gripped her arms, untrimmed nails biting into the skin.

Her whole body trembled as she fought back angry tears. Her lip was tender from what he had done, her body felt tainted. She wanted to scrub at it until she bled, scrape off all the filth.

Io wept silently, burrowing into the sheets, black curls splayed out around her. She felt pathetic, tainted. She felt sick.

That night she did not sleep, fitfully tossing and turning, panicking at any noise beyond her door. When Karl came to get her in the morning she was huddled in a corner, looking so much like a cornered cat; hair frazzled around her shoulders, nightgown askew, wide eyes blood shot and shadowed. Yet he did not press. He simply took her hand, and helped braid her hair. She handed him what he was sure was a strip from the torn apart sheet to bind the strands; he did not press, though he could see the beaded cord she normally used dangling out of her dresser.

He was afraid to, he admitted to himself. He was scared of what had put her in such a state, not wanting to think of it. Her condition was enough to tear his heart apart. To hear whatever they had done to her? He could not bear it.

Karl wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she stared up at him sadly, reaching to cup his whiskered cheek.

“I’ll be okay Karl.” She promised, and he buried his face in her neck, praying to the maker for guidance. He had never been rebellious; studious, compliant, always behaving how they expected. Yet right now he felt a lashing anger; he wanted to strike out, defend this person who always put herself in the way for others, who had become his dearest friend in the past year. To see her spirit so crushed infuriated him. How dare they. He jolted when she ran her fingers through his hair, humming a soft song; her voice was a balm on his soul.

“Let the wind take your worries

Let the light take the dark

Warms hands there to wipe your tears

Wind and gentle flurries

Within your heart light the spark

I’ll fight away all your fears.”

“Don’t leave me Iolarin.” He whispered, mind racing through all the faces of mages who had succumbed to the desolation of this hellish place and ended their lives. He could not bear it if she fell to the same fate. Could not face a future without her; Anders was not his reason for protecting her any longer. Now he did it for himself, his life brighter and happier since she had come into it.

“Never, Karl.” He smiled at the ferocity in her voice, laughing brokenly. She was so brave, so strong; he wondered where she found her strength.

***

Io wrestled the anguish that had been coursing through her heart, forcing it away. She would not let them win. The pain in Karl’s voice was all she needed to strengthen her, knowing that his fears were founded on the deaths of so many mages who buckled under the pressure. She could not afford to. So many people counted on her, and she would not let them down.

Io stood, taking his hand in hers, putting on a brave smile, leading him from her room. She could do this; for Karl and Alain and all of the others who depended on her, she could pull through this.

Thoughts of another, dearer man, kept away the revulsion of the other.

That day they spent tucked away in the library; the usual host of apprentices swarming around Io, while she helped them with any subjects they were having difficulty. They were excited for her to become a teacher herself, all agreeing that she would be wonderful. Karl noted that she was very good at explaining things in ways for others to understand; she was a natural. Io beamed under the praise. She was learning more and more how to talk with others, how to explain her thoughts, in less complicated ways that few understood.

They ate dinner surrounded by their peers, who were wise enough not to press her odd behavior over the past few days. Io opened up more, relaxing the longer she went without running into a particular Templar. She passed her letters with Namia, just as before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I warn you once more that the pain does not end here, and to remember that this is a story written by an abuse survivor. Many of the thoughts Io will have I have experienced myself, and many of her actions I have gone through.  
> I do believe, having delved into the characters and story of dragon age, that Cullen really would have reacted this way to a mage if he saw her again so soon after the fall of Kinloch. While I grant that he is a trauma survivor, it in no way excuses his actions in this fic or that of the actual games. This will have no redemption for Cullen, and will be very critical of his character and actions.  
> I do hope you will continue reading, though I can certainly understand if it is no longer to your tastes.   
> Until next time. <3


	18. 17th day of Drakonis, 9:31 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin fought. She fought to hold onto her friends, and fought to keep smiling for them. One day she swore she would be able to fight back against those who wrong her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for abuse and mention of rape.

17th day of Drakonis, 9:31 DRAGON

The rest of the week progressed much the same, and Io worked hard to keep negative thoughts to the night, and gone by morning. Seeing Karl, Alain, and the apprentices helped keep her mood up, and kept her from spiraling into that dark pit of despair. It also helped that she never saw Cullen after the attack, and she wondered if he had been reassigned again. The opposite of her feelings of only a handful of days ago; she hoped he had been.

A week after her attack, they were allowed out into a sectioned off courtyard, though Templars tucked themselves into the shadows to keep eyes on them. Io enjoyed the sunshine, the spring sea scented air whipping at her hair that she left unbound. The messy curls framed her face, and bare shoulders.

Karl commented after a few hours reading in a section of shade that she was surely going to have thousands more freckles, and her skin was already darkening. Io gave him a bright smile.

“I have not had darker skin in so long. We really need to get out more. I will suffer the freckles if it means fresh air.” She stood from under the shade, twirling around, arms outstretched. Karl shook his head bemusedly. She was lovely, and he knew why so many people idolized her, even if she wasn’t his type.

“Try not to fall over. You are very uncoordinated.” He teased, and Io stuck her tongue out at him. “Good thing being a mage does not require any grace.”

Io’s face scrunched up, and she kicked at his boot, lifting her robes. She hiked one end up, tying a large knot in it. “I may not be graceful, but I can run faster than you, old man!” She taunted, and he glared at her, pushing himself up to grab at her. She dodged out of the way, cackling. “Catch me if you can, though try not to tire yourself too much. I hear it is bad for the elderly.”

She squealed as he jumped towards her, laughing and running away from him. He chased her around the courtyard, earning some disapproving looks from older mages, and cheers from apprentices and other mages their age.

“I’ve got her, Karl!” Alain cheered, jumping out to try to catch Io, but in spite of Karls earlier comment, she gracefully spun just out of reach. A miscalculation on her part as it gave Karl the time to catch up and tackle her to the ground. They tumbled into the grass with a solid _‘oomph’_.

Io laughed breathlessly, and Karl rolled off of her, joining her laughter, coughing slightly as they caught their breath. Alain plopped down next to them, giving Io a wide grin.

“Mmm, you are getting darker too Alain.” Io commented, reaching up to poke one of his browned cheeks. He stuck his tongue out at her, turning to snap at her finger. She smiled, rolling up on her elbow, face upturned to the sky. “This is nice.” Both men hummed in agreement.

“Hey, Io. Want to see something special?” Alain whispered, leaning close to her conspiratorially. Io raised a brow curiously, nodding. Alain dragged her up, and Karl languidly followed after them as they scuttled over to a copse of bushes by the wall.

Alain tugged Io down next to the bushes, and parted them aside for her. Karl couldn’t see what they were looking at from his angle, but Io gasped and reached into the branches, giving Alain a look of wide eyed wonder.

“She has been wandering the circle at night, they are only a week old. I am glad no Templars have found her.” Karl frowned and leaned over them, eyes widening as he stared at the mounds of fur Io was running her hand across. Kittens.

“Oh they are lovely Alain. Thank you for showing me.” Her eyes were misty as she turned back to the small creatures, lip quivering when the mother licked at her fingers. Karl shook his head, standing up to glance around them, making sure no one noticed what would seem like very suspicious behavior.

“If you want to keep them hidden, you two, we should move away from here. It looks oddly suspicious, three mages huddled in a corner.” He mentioned, sighing when the two of them gave him identical disappointed looks. “You can always come see them when we come out again, and soon enough they’ll be wandering the halls hunting for mice.”

Io heaved a large sigh, and stood up. She made a show of dusting the dirt from her robe before untying the knot holding it above her knees. She helped Alain stand, and the three of them wandered back inside, her arms looped through theirs, oblivious to the light brown eyes that had been following them.

***

After supper, Alain and Io wandered around the halls, chatting amiably about their studies and gossip.

“Did you hear; Meredith has a new favorite Templar? Some pounce, real asshole I hear. Apparently, he was sent here because he works with the sick way mages are treated, the status quo upheld in this place; mage hater.” Alain rambled, and Io shrugged her shoulders. Very few Templars here were any different.

“One of the handful of recruits I imagine.” She commented, rubbing one of her bare shoulders. She noted some new freckles, and when she nudged aside part of the garment she saw a slight difference in skin tone.

“I hope they keep the courtyard open through the warm season. Few of us get the chance to wander Kirkwall. Cannot be healthy; all of us locked away all the time.” Io shot him a look at his words, and he rolled his eyes.

“Because Templars care _so_ much about our health, right?” Her voice rang with sarcasm, and Alain looked around, paranoid of Templars.

“It is still so wrong. We did not do anything wrong, yet we are doomed to spend our whole lives without ever seeing anything of the world. At least Starkhaven let us go outside, and send letters to our families.” He mumbled, and Io hooked her arm through his, leaning her head on his shoulder.

“A prison is a prison, Alain. You just got traded a fancy one for one that at least does not try to pretend it is anything other than what the circles really are: Our prison, a cage.” As they rounded a corner Io trailed off, and they were silent until they passed an armored Templar, wary of saying anything within earshot that could be used against them. Alain was stiff under her touch, and Io rubbed soothing circles into his hand.

“I hope they are uncomfortable under all that armor.” Alain muttered once they had rounded another corner. Io shot him a playful smile.

“I bet it smells awful, after a day of walking and standing around in it. Can you imagine the sweat?” She joked, and he grinned at her. “Namia says they have to regularly take all of it out for scouring.”

“It is probably almost curfew; I’ll walk you to your room?” Io nodded, and let him lead the way. She wasn’t fooled into thinking it was a coincidence that Karl or Alain were always with her, escorting her to her room. It touched her, how much they cared. Her smile softened, and she gave the arm in her grasp a gentle pat.

“Thank you, Alain.” He waved goodbye once he had dropped her off, and made his way to his own room. Io hummed contently, and closed her door behind her. She ran her fingers through her black curls, crunching it up into a very loose messy bun to sleep in.

She slipped from her mage robes and into a nightgown; it was a plain brown and unornamented, but far more comfortable than sleeping in her robes, and she didn’t really have much in the way of shirts or breeches. She glanced at the rickety mirror stuffed in one corner, scrunching her face at how plain she looked. What she would not give for fancy things. But it could never be; this circle most of all did not provide the mages with anything not absolutely necessary. Though she could see the weight she had lost being in Kirkwall; food was plain and sparsely served, within the confines of the Gallows, and times of isolation within their cells.

Io detangled what she could of her hair, deciding a braid would be better than a bun for the night, humming softly to herself. She did not notice when her door was opened, but jumped when she heard the click of it closing, the turn of a key locking it shut. She spun around, ready to dispel an attacker when a wash of power surge over her, preventing any spell casting.

_Templar._

And then; _Cullen._

Io backed away, hitting the edge of her bed, and dodging around it. “Stay away from me!” She screeched, eyes wide with fear as the man advanced on her, knocking away her meager furnishings.

“You must think you’re clever, sneaky whore!” He growled, and backed her into a corner. Io lashed out, throwing her weight forward to push him away. He grabbed her wrists, restraining her.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Let me go!” He pushed her into the wall, gripping her wrists in one hand, and gripping her chin with his other. “I will not let you hurt me again.” She spat, trying to pull away. He glared at her, slamming her wrists above her head. She cried out from the jarring pain of it.

“I rather think you will. You think I would not see? That way you flaunt yourself, hanging all over people? You taunt me.” His grip tightened on her chin and she flinched, fighting back tears.

“I have no clue what you mean by any of that. I haven’t done anything.” She challenged, still squirming in his grip.

“Those mages you spend every hour with. I see the way you drape yourself all over them, entrance them. I wonder if you told them how you spread those legs to a Templar.” He whispered, leaning close to her ear. Io shuddered, fighting more with those words. “I did not think so. With your Holier-than-thou attitude. You think you are better than us.” He slammed her head against the wall, and Io saw a flash of stars.

“St-stop. I will not listen to this. Let m-me go!” She sobbed softly, her head spinning and heart pounding loudly.

“Should I go turn on your friends then? Better them than you?” He threatened, and Io froze. Her mind rushed through the faces of her beloved friends, and she kicked out.

“No! You won’t!” She cried, but her struggle was useless. She was a mage unused to fighting, weaker than this man who honed his skills and strengths every day; her magic kept from her grasp under his whim.

“Then you will remember your place.” He leaned over her again, and Io slumped in his hold, knowing full well that here he could do whatever he wanted, to whoever. He bit harshly at her ear and Io whimpered, tears streaking down her cheeks.

“Please leave them alone. I will do whatever you want.” She acquiesced, defeated. It was the only thing she had to protect them.

“Good girl,” He dropped her wrists, and ripped off her gown.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry you guys. I can't say it'll be happy again for a while, though things will move at a faster pace time wise from here on out.   
> Remember to stay safe when reading. <3


	19. 18th - 24th Days of Bloomingtide, 9:31 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning for depictions of rape and violence. This is a very rough chapter, so please be careful as you read. As always the triggering scene is marked *TW* for any who wish to skip past it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin feared. She feared for the safety of those closest to her, feared the loss of her identity. Yet deep down, she vowed the Chantry would be the ones who feared her one day.

18th \- 24th Days of Bloomingtide, 9:31 DRAGON

Over the next two months Cullen rose in the Templar ranks, and there was speculation he would soon be promoted to second in command. Io had no doubt of this. After all, he hated mages as much, if not more, than Meredith herself. And he had accomplished the task of quelling a thorn in their sides; herself.  Orsino’s – all of the mage’s – favorite elven girl.

In that time, he snuck into her rooms repeatedly, or snatched her into some empty room, forcing her into increasingly humiliating acts. She allowed it, surrendering herself to his depravity, if only to spare the ones she loved. In her drive to protect them she had also withdrawn from them, fearing Cullen’s possessiveness of her and his wrath. He had already beaten her once when he had seen her talking to another man.

She had fought him only once, the depravities he forced upon her calling forth wilder instincts that demanded that she fought, that she run.

***

_“Let me go! I won’t let you do this any more! You’re depraved.” She had slapped him as he had shoved her into an empty storage room. He in turn sent her sprawling with his fist to her face._

_“Depraved? I could kill you for your insolence. You owe me your life!”_

_“I belong to no one but myself, my life is mine!” She had stood on shaky legs in the face of his fury, and maybe she had even hoped he would kill her, if only to be free of the misery._

_“You belong to me. Loving you took everything from me, you are to blame for all of this.” He had grabbed her hair, and still she had fought._

_“Love? You don’t know anything about love! You don’t even have a soul. I won’t be subject to this slavery!”_

_“Slavery?! This is your place, same as everyone like you. You should be grateful!”_

_“You are twisted, warped, and worse you are so full of your own lies. Mages deserve to live free of Templars hold! You monster!”_

_***_

He had beaten her until the world had gone dim, and still he had taken from her body what he wanted. He had taken the fight from her soul, and she drew further inside of herself, the only protection she had

The only one she saw was Namia, and only then it was to pass their letters. Iolarin had taken to reading them almost as soon as they were in her hands, burning them after the first read. Her own letters had become messy, and Namia fretted constantly, though there was nothing the other girl could do.

The letters were all she had, afraid to speak a word to anyone.

Letters, and memories of Anders; sweet, kind, gentle Anders, her friend through everything at Kinloch. So, she wrote every memory of him she had, hiding and piling them away under the loose stone by her bed. Every smile, laugh, prank and heartache. She told Namia where they were stashed hidden; in case anything ever happened to her, she wanted Karl to have them.

It was the only comfort she had, in the face of Cullen’s fury.

Cullen had no qualms beating her bloody, and Io did her best to heal herself and keep away from anyone else. She was withdrawing into herself, a despair clinging onto her mind like a black shroud; like a black lake she could barely keep above. Sometimes he’d threaten to share her around, though that was one of the only threats she knew he would never follow through on. He prided himself on owning her, being the only one to have her. All without ever having to make her tranquil.

She spent more time in the small Chantry section, the only place he never snatched her from, praying to any gods that would listen. She was losing herself, every part of her identity being crushed under his heel.

She shuddered, thinking about him. No matter how hard she scrubbed she could never get the feeling of being filthy from her skin. She was sure he liked that she wasn’t tranquil; he liked when she fought against it, he enjoyed threatening and raping her.

Tears slid down Io’s face, and she wiped numbly at them. She was huddled in a storage room, constantly terrified he would grab her at any moment to force her into his depravity.

Io stood straight, back against the door when she heard voices outside.

“Thank you again, Samson. It means the world, really.” Came a muffled voice, male.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever kid. I’ll make sure these letters make it to their destination.” She heard the creak of armor, and a wash of pinpricks pimpled her skin. The voice wasn’t Cullen’s, never the less the sound of armor always sent her into a panic. She waited until the sound of metal steps had faded, and slowly opened the door.

She jumped when a face peeked out on the other side, a man in mage robes blinking owlishly at her. Short cropped brown hair, wide brown eyes.

“You did not hear any of that, just now, did you?” He asked, fidgeting with a sleeve hem. Io took in a shaky breath, forcing a weak curve to her lips.

“Only if you did not just see me slip from a storage closet.” She whispered shuffling out and closing the door behind her. She studied his face, recalled his name; Maddox. A mage; he likes to make things? But she had never spoken to him. Karl and Alain both knew him, spoke about him.

“No idea what you are talking about. Never seen you!” He gave her a grateful smile and hurried down the hallway. Io rubbed the healing chafes on her wrists, and made her way opposite. She is careful and quiet in the halls, so she sees Karl outside her door before he sees her.

She sucked in a deep breath, and lacked the courage to push him away this time; the sad look in his eyes every time she had pulled away and walked past him broke her heart. Today she could not bear it. So, she turned on her heel and wandered the halls. She stopped by a window, staring into the courtyard with longing.

Suddenly an orange tabby jumped onto the sill, a small little thing. Recognition lights her face as she reaches out to brush her fingers over its fur. One of the kittens Alain had shown her.

A tear slides down her cheek, and when the small thing mewls at her she scoops him close to her chest. It kneads there, purring loudly. She places a gentle kiss upon its head, and as slowly as she can she makes her way to a fountain, scooping a handful of water for it to lap from.

“Where is your mother, little one?” she hums softly, looking around the halls. She had not seen any sign of the small creatures, and she prayed they were well. When she pets him, he butts into her hand, and it brings a smile to her lips.

For a time, she sits with the animal, and it curls against her hip. She leans against the wall, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. It is nice to have a moments respite.

When she hears foot steps down the hall, she picks up the tiny creature and hurries to a window ledge, gently setting him down on an outcropping of rock, pulling away as soon as his claws find purchase. She checks that he is in no danger of the water below, then hurries away from the window. She would not risk Cullen harming the innocent creature merely to hurt her.

She is not surprised when Cullen rounds the corner; he always found her. There is a scowl on his face, and she clenches her hands at her sides. Tonight would be painful, then.

“Come with me.” He mutters, snatching her arms and dragging her down the halls. She is silent as they go, and keeps up as best she can. Eventually they reach an area meant for Templar quarters, and Io cannot suppress the grimace. Trying to find her way back from here without being seen would be difficult, especially depending on how long until he was finished with her.

He shoves her into a room, and she notes the two cots. She thinks this must be his quarters, and he shares them. Would he finally make good on his threats to pass her around? But a longer survey of the room assured her that whoever shared the room, they were not there now.

*TW*

She gasped when he threw her onto the bed, but did not fight against him when he began tearing her robes off. She would not give him the pleasure of a fight, not this night. Unexpectedly, in the middle of his molestation of her body he hit her. Breath whooshed from her lungs, and Io gave a strangled cry. He hit her again and again, and even used a knife to carve into the flesh of her hip and belly, then when she was near the point of passing out he stuffed himself inside her, releasing his seed after a succession of thrusts.

He stood, tucking himself away and buckling his pants then attaching his armor, leaving her battered in the bed, naked and crying. He sneered at her once before he stormed from the room, likely to make his rounds.

Io lay there for what must have been hours, unable to dress or move, slowly bleeding into the bedding. He would punish her for that later. Her mind barely conscious of anything but the pain, searing through her stomach and limbs. She felt sick, though over the past month that was nothing new.

She could feel the blood drying on the sheet against her belly, the fabric sticking to her skin painfully.

*TW END*

Someone pushed open the door, but Io couldn’t make them out through the haze glossing over her eyes. Someone cursed, and she felt tentative touches around her face.

“Maker. Who did this?” She recognized the voice, though in her state she could not recall from where. “Never mind, I bet I know the answer. I’ll go get the first enchanter.” Panic shot through her, and her hand lashed out, sapping all of her remaining strength, gripping the cloth on the man’s Templar uniform, and it stilled him, however weak her grip may have been. He cursed again, and bent back to examine her.

“P-please do- not.” She croaked out, throat raw and speech slurred. She tried to focus on his face. He was older, his face whiskered and hair messy. Still recognition escaped her.

“Fine. Fine.” He nodded, and scooped her gingerly into his arms, yanking the sheet from his own bed to tuck her into. “I know you, girl. Favorite and trouble maker; Orsino’s little starling. Stay away from that man; next time someone might not show up soon enough.” He was silent after, marching through the halls.

 She was glad he had the forethought to wrap her in a sheet. He made hushing, soothing noises to her, holding her tight against his chest, every jarring step making her whimper softly. Eventually they reached her rooms, and Io moaned in pain when he set her on the bed.

“Whatever reason you don’t want Orsino, you still need someone to look you over.” He frowned, and tucked the blankets around her, reaching out to brush black curls from her face. She was so pale, her skin clammy. “That kid you’re always around, the older looking one,” He paused, face scowled in thought. “Thekla. Shh, don’t argue with me. I won’t let you die because you’re afraid of, what? Decorum? There isn’t anything modest about what’s been done to you. Now hush, and I’ll be back, little song bird.” He shut the door behind him, and she heard the lock click in place.

It almost made her laugh, the absurdity of a lock. The man who did this wouldn’t be stopped by any locks. He had all the keys. Io curled in on herself after another rush of pain stabbed through her, and she tucked her knees against her chest, moaning pitifully.

She could feel the dried blood crack with her movement, the pull against her belly as she opened the wound even more. But she hardly cared; she wanted to wrap herself further up, until there was nothing left for Cullen to hurt.

***

Soon the Templar and Karl returned, and Io could not bear to look at her friend’s face. Twisted with shock, hopelessness, despair; anger.

“Did you do this to her?!” She heard Karl exclaim, and the unusual anger in his voice made her speak before the Templar could.

“No Karl-“ She gasped, crying from the pain that would not abate. “Not him.” Was all she managed to grit out, and Karl was at her side.

“Shh. By Andraste, Iolarin. Who did this?” He whispered, and the Templar handed him a wet rag from her basin. He wiped it over her brow. “You can go, Templar Samson. I can handle this from here.” The man, Samson, nodded before going to leave the room. He turned though, watching her breathe shallowly, anger constricting his face a moment.

“He will be made to suffer the consequences of this. Our duty is to protect you mages; I will see I do my duty to you, child.” He swore, then left closing door but not locking it.

Tears covered her face, and Io whimpered through all of Karl’s gentle ministrations. Eventually his healing finished, though he was pale and looked ages older. Her own skin was a sickly grey as she lay in bed, splotches of blood on her thighs. She did not miss the sheets he tossed into a fire he started in her wash bin, her blood seeping through them bright red before they went up in flames. She realized then, the pain in her belly, the pulsing and pressure. Blood more than even the wounds Karl had healed, the lingering pain he could not reach.

Miscarriage.

“How long has this been happening?” He did not ask a name, and she could barely answer this question.

“Two months.” Her voice was weak, and her hands shook as she covered her flesh with the linen he set on the bed.

“Why haven’t you said anything? We could have done something.” He was angry, and it made her heart race, so she turned away from him.

“There’s nothing to be done. Leave it, Karl.” The bed sunk where he sat on it, and Io could not stop the flinch when he touched her.

It broke something in him, and Karl let out a sob. He laid down behind her on the bed, not touching her but close. Her own sobs were silent, but shook her whole frame.

***

No one came to her room that day, and Karl did not leave her except to rush to grab some food, and change his own clothes. He turned away Alain when he came knocking, gentle reassurance on his lips, and forced her to eat some pieces of bread and fruit.

Cullen did not come that night, and she was grateful. The thought of his wrath if he saw Karl with her was devastating.

“Karl, you have to stay away from me. You’ll only be in danger.” She tried to convince him, but he was silent, and stared out the window through all her attempts. Her nightmares were all of his mangled corpse and Cullen’s twisted smile. His mocking words cruel and twisted, saying she had only him and she belonged only to him.

The next day, when he went for fresh clothes and food, Io was shocked when Templars came by, informing her that a lockdown was happening. They closed her door, locking her in, and she prayed it had nothing to do with Karl.

Two days into the lock down, Io was frantic. When a Templar came with a plate of plain oats and bread, Io begged her for news.

“Some Templar was caught conspiring with a mage, passing notes out of the circle. Kid’s a tranquil now, and the Templar tossed out; being corrupted and all. Cruel fate if you ask me, over some love letters. But those are the rules.” The woman shot Io an annoyed look. “Lockdown should be over in a day or two. Knight-commander just wanted to keep down any ruckus that could have been caused by the hassle.” She shrugged, grabbing the empty bowl and marching out without another word. Io sunk into her bed, relief coursing through her for a moment.

Karl was safe.

Then shame washed over her, and she recalled the boy and the Templar outside the closet. Love letters. Io paled, and she rushed to the waste pot to empty the contents of her stomach. That poor boy. Made tranquil, all over love letters.

Then memory came over her, a Templar carrying her down the halls, saving her from bleeding out in some empty room. That voice. She shook her head. Couldn’t be it. But what if it was?

What if he had confronted Cullen, and conspiring was just the excuse they used? She twisted her robes in her hands, and she prayed to Mythal that she was wrong.

She was cursed, truly.

She quickly went to her own secret letter, hidden under a loose stone in the floor, burning it. Nothing could lead back to Namia, or anyone else. She would give them no such hold. Though she kept the others, her memories, to whom there was no name addressed.

***

When the lockdown was released, Karl and Alain wasted no time in barging into her room. Yet Io had had three days since talking to the Templar woman to set her mind on turning them away. She would not risk them. Being in her life was too dangerous.

Even a Templar had not been spared after meeting her.

“I do not want to see you. Either of you.” She said, squaring her shoulders, hardening her face, making her voice as low and harsh as she could. Alain’s face would normally have broken her resolve, but all she had to think of was the Templar and mage who had likely suffered because of her. Of the bundle tossed into flames because Cullen had taken pleasure in cutting her apart. This would protect them, in the end. They would not meet the same fate.

“Io, what are you talking about? What happened? I have been so worried.” Alain exclaimed, brow furrowed and lower lip trembling, and Io forced herself through her next words.

“Nothing happened. I am just bored of you always hanging off of me, like a puppy. It makes me sick.” She sneered at him, crossing her arms. Tears filled his brown eyes. Io held firm as he turned around and fled.

Yet when she turned to push Karl away her mask faltered. He looked sad, and tired. “That was cruel of you.” He shook his head, pushing past her into the room. “You can try that with me, but I am not leaving. You can’t fool me.”

She spun around, glaring at him. The world spun for a moment, and she took a few seconds to take heaving breaths. He approached her slowly, and passed a hand over her abdomen. He gave her a pitying look, and Io turned away from him.

“I do not need your pity.” She snapped, knives going through her heart. She gripped tightly at the front of her robes. “Just leave, Karl. I do not want you here.”

“I think not. However, I know you need someone here. I won’t lose you, because some monster of a Templar is warping your mind. Who is it, Surana? Why won’t you go to Orsino about it?” He did not touch her, but came around to face her. She closed her eyes, fighting for control.

“It would not matter. It would only make things worse. You should leave, so you will be safe.” She jumped when he cursed loudly, spinning around to kick a chair.

“Damn safe, Iolarin. Nothing about living here is safe. When you can be made tranquil or whipped over the simplest transgressions. No matter the laws they tote, or righteousness. We’re nothing but animals to them.” He spat, anger radiating off of him. It was bizarre, to see the normally so composed man lashing out. It frightened her. She could not stop the retreat his upset caused in her.

He noticed her back away, and took a moment to collect himself. “I am not angry at you Iolarin. I am sad, and lost.” He turned to face her, and tentatively reached out his hand to cup her face. She allowed him, tears slipping from her lashes as she closed her eyes, pushing down the urge to breakdown. “The world needs you. Without you, something will be missing in existence and nobody can replace it.”

“I cannot do this Karl. I would rather push you away than something horrible happen to you.” Love was a curse. Magic was a curse. Io pulled away, tucking her hair behind one pointed ear. She opened the door, motioning weakly for him to go.

“I will always be here, Iolarin. You are very dear to me. To so many people. Let us help you.” He stood in the doorway, and reached up to cup her cheek again. After a moment, he pulled away, shoulders heavy with the weight of his worry for her.

Io sank against the door, wrapping her arms around her knees, after closing it behind him. It was becoming too much. She was unsure how much more she could take before she broke.

***

Despite her prayers, Cullen visited her that night. There was something different in his demeanor, though she would not let herself be fooled. He sat on the edge of her bed, and Io held absolutely still, hoping against it all that maybe he would leave her be this night.

When he gripped her foot, and gently kneaded into it, Io let out a gasping sob, and his hand massaged its way up her calf.

His voice was soft when he spoke. “I know what happened, Surana.” He slipped the sheet from her shoulders, and rolled her to face him. His touches were tentative, his expression sad. Io trembled still, awaiting the switch.

“Shh. Had I known you were with child, I would not have been so harsh.” Io wanted to laugh bitterly, lash out at him. She was so tired though. So tired of fighting. He traced circles on her stomach, sunken down from her position and how little she had eaten since she had come to Kirkwall – where a nasty scar twisted her flesh an angry red.

Io closed her eyes, her body trembling, heart pounding. She waited for anger that did not come.

“If you’ll just behave, I won’t have to do anything like that again. You know I care, Surana. Just be good.” Io crumbled, and resigned herself to her fate.

It was so much easier to convince herself he cared, that he loved her. Easier to stop fighting. So she locked away all the parts of herself that fought, that lashed out.

His kiss was soft against her lips; it was easier, this way.

The following months would always be a blur in her memory; she did little beyond what was absolutely expected of her. When Karl tried to talk to her, she simply turned away, or told him everything was well. It was, it some ways. She had compressed away all the bad parts of herself, and Cullen’s treatment was almost sweet. Or so she told herself. He no longer beat her, nor threatened her. He was gentle. He loved her.

Her only other company over that time was the orange tabby, who visited her when she wandered the halls. She had named him Anders. Stubborn little creature as he was. She never saw his siblings or his mother, and kept down any thoughts of what might have happened to them.

She was tranquil like, in that time. It was easier. She never used her magic anymore. It was a taint in her blood; the reason Cullen was unkind. It was the cause of all her suffering. When she dreamed, she pushed away the fade and the spirit who always pushed at her barriers. It was easier this way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this chapter is obviously like ions late. I am so sorry to anyone who has been waiting. <3 I can't even give you a happy chapter either. But Life has calmed down a bit for me, so I'll be uploading the rest of the first part of the saga this month. I hope you are all still sticking around, and I promise there will be happiness again. Not for a long time, admittedly, but it will get there.


	20. 22nd Day of Justinian, 9:31 DRAGON – 1st Day of Wintermarch, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin forgot. She forgot joy and light, forgot everything she was and who she was meant to be. She never forgot a smiling face surrounded in gold, though.

22nd Day of Justinian, 9:31 DRAGON – 1st Day of Wintermarch, 9:32 DRAGON

A month later, the twenty second day of Justinian, and Iolarin finds herself in the chantry room, praying before the statue of Andraste. Cullen never takes her from there, and even encourages her religious devotion; encourages her to abandon the barbarian practices she had carried from youth.

He is kind, gentle, always trying to steer her in the proper direction, help keep her in line. He is always watching over her, warning her away from those who could corrupt her.

Namia is in the room, kneeling next to her, a warm soothing presence. Namia never pushes, never asks, but is always there. Their letters never continued; Iolarin knew Cullen would not approve, and she only ever wanted to please him.

***

She sits alone in the Library, leaves if anyone comes near; Cullen warns her how dangerous it is to be around other mages, who could turn her. She does whatever Cullen tells her. He loves her.

Namia sees the bruises around Iolarins wrists, the bags under her eyes, apologies for any mishap, the way she flinches at unexpected sounds or contact. But she doesn’t know what to do, how to help. So, she is there, and she waits.

Iolarin does slip, one day, saying _he_ would not be pleased if she stayed out too late. Namia presses only once, and it is enough to set her blood to ice. Iolarin’s eyes widen, and there is a moment of fear before she mutters an apology and gritty false smile. Yet she is shaking, her skin so pale and clammy, and Namia sees the fear underlying there, and it haunts her.

He told her, warned her, no one could ever know. They’d hate her, for having a Templar favor her. They’d revile her, he said, she would be hated for being a favorite.

Nonono, she was no one’s favorite, not again. _Just like Jowan_.

Namia is silent, and never asks again.

***

The second day of Solace, Karl sits across from her in the library. He is silent, and she thinks that must be alright. He stays there, silent as a statue, reading his manuscripts. Hours, until she returns to her rooms.

It was not alright.

Karl sees her, sees the bruises, the scars he could not heal stark against her ever paler face. Her eyes sunken in, her robes too loose about her frame. Constantly on alert, jumping at the slightest sounds.

Karl corners her, horrified at the bruising on her bared shoulders, hands shaking as he begs her to let him heal them. She tells him no, it was her fault, she had been foolish, it was her fault.

It haunts his dreams, and he doesn’t know how to change it.

***

She lays in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, and wondering why it was so hard to stand, why her limbs felt so heavy. Her vision spun, and her mouth was dry. Cullen sweetly presses a cup to her lips, and it burns going down her throat. He feeds her slowly, admonishing her for not taking better care of herself.

His hands are firm on her shoulders, and she tells herself how much he cares.

Orsino sees the bruising, when he confronts her about all her missed training. She so easily supplies the lie; she was being clumsy, and so busy in her studies she forgot to eat, fell down some stairs. It was nothing.

Orsino had heard it all too many times before, but as with each time, what could he do? His complaints to Meredith, and even Elthina, fell on deaf ears.

Iolarin would not tell him the truth, and so he had no name or finger to point. Solace passes into August with no change.

***

On the thirteenth day of August, Iolarin really does fall down the stairs, shattering her arm. This, Orsino makes her have healed. Karl is quiet, and there are bags under his eyes, greying beard unkempt. Her arm set to right, but still the two would not let her leave.

She needed to see Cullen. He would miss her, as late as she was. He would already be so sad and upset over her tumble, he cared so much. She was just so clumsy.

“Eat.” Was the first command, and so she ate, under their watchful eyes. Karl would check her over, with his magic, ensuring everything was settling right.

An initiate was asked to stay with her, fearing she was coming down with fever. Namia stayed in her room all night, fretful when Iolarin could not sleep, and only awoke screaming.

When she brought her concerns to Patrice, they fell on deaf ears.

***

When Anders’ first letter arrives, tucked in a book on the chant, through Namia, Karl is suspicious. But another and another arrives, and secrets written within that it could hardly be a trap.

Karl is worried about what to write back; should he mention Iolarin at all? No, he knew Anders far well enough; the blond would burn the whole chantry down to get to her. They had been lovers, but Iolarin had been by his side even longer. The only friend Anders had. And even more than that.

So he filled his letters with other tales, of nights locked in a cold cell and lashings and tranquility.

Anders was a warden, and he helped save a city, under the great Hero.

Only once, did Anders mention Kinloch, and his grief over its fall; no mention of Iolarin.

It was hard, not to write of her. So Karl wrote; every memory he had of the young elf woman since she had arrived, everything he could remember. Those, he hid safely away. Just in case; tucked away into the library.

He made Alain swear to give them to Namia, should any fate befall him. She would see they reached Anders. So, Kingsway passed, and so Anders fell.

***

It is the eighth day of Harvestmere, and Iolarin feels as if she has forgotten how to reach her magic. She knows it is there, at her core, but she can’t recall how to reach it. So many things are fuzzy now, and Cullen reminds her she has no reason to use her magic anyway.

Magic was dangerous, after all.

So when Orsino has her in his office, he is confused and scared when she cannot bring forth any of the spells he commands her to. She explains it away as being tired, and saying there was really no point to all of this and he had better things to do, didn’t he?

Nothing he ever said could reach her.

***

There is no Satinalia celebration that year and the circle is so deathly quiet, no one dare breath a word of complaint.

Cullen is sweet, and spends the whole day in her room, never leaving her for a moment. He has been promoted, and given the day off. She thinks it must be sweet, him choosing to spend his free time with her.

Her door is locked, and Karl is afraid. She does not answer when he calls, and Namia has no answers for him. They know how little she eats, how often she is confined away.

Then the orders come, from their newest captain, and all mages are confined for the night. Namia hides his letters in the bread she brings, and it is harder not to beg Anders to come and meet him. To free Iolarin. To save them all.

Her absence is felt all around, and hopelessness has returned. Alain whispers to him that he wanted to leave, how he heard more mages from Starkhaven were found, a Templar from there who terrified him no longer daunted by a fiery elf with daggers for eyes. Karl doesn’t know what to say.

Iolarin would have known.

***

Cullen visits her less, through the rest of Firstfall, so busy with his promotion. He trains the recruits, keeps them all in line, and occasionally is sent after maleficar.

Namia is relieved, when Iolarin visits the Chantry every day. Patrice has assigned prayer and upkeep of the circles chantry room to her. She makes sure Iolarin eats, drinks plenty of water and rests. She begins regaining color, and filling back out.

There is an occasional smile, and it breaks Namia’s heart, wishing she could share it with everyone else. She hopes the change continues, and that they get their friend back again.

The circle needed her.

***

Haring is cold, and Iolarin is hardly ever able to keep warm. Even with Cullen in her bed, she still shakes, fingers and toes tingling. The month is coming to an end, and Iolarin hopes that soon spring will return.

Cullen is frequently missing from her rooms, and she curls under her blankets, always waiting. Just as he told her.

Karl brings her food, but leaves quickly when she asks, half crying. Even Namia is not allowed to see her, and Iolarin is so, so scared. Cullen would be so angry, with all these people visiting. She worked hard, scrubbing her floors, taming her hair with his gift, and waiting.

He was kind, he loved her. He watched over her. He was gentle, he was all she had.

Over and over again, she whispered the words, fighting the hysteria.

***

The thirtieth and final day of Haring, Cullen locks them in his rooms. Apologies on his lips for leaving her alone so long, and questions. What had she been doing? Who had she been with?

She tells him she waited, she waited and only went to the chantry. She knows lying was bad, but she didn’t want the others in trouble. She accepts the punishment for lying; it was only to help her.

He loved her.

Right?

***

When she is in Orsino’s office, the next morning, he tells her there will be a celebration; he had asked Elthina, who agreed. He hopes to light the fire back in her eyes, but she is silent, and asks if there was something he needed from her.

So, he asks her to sing, at the party. She had the last time, and he suggested that making a tradition would be nice. She is unsure, but he insists and she has no choice but to agree.

She asks Namia what to sing, what she thought the Templars or chantry might like. Namia suggests instead something happy, uplifting. Original.

Iolarin sings about meadows, unthinking. Recalling an old memory, just a blur, of golden fields of wheat and the border of a forest. She sings of a lake and docks and fish nipping at your feet. Of laughter and the circle’s walls.

Everyone claps loudly, and she grins widely at the mages, chantry sisters and brothers, gathered in the hall. Elthina asks what her song had been about, and Iolarin admits it was the town Lothering, Kinloch, and lake Calenhad. Her earliest memories, simple in their childhood sweetness.

She never mentions the way her heart aches for Ferelden, of golden hair and golden eyes like Lothering wheat, or laughter like water at the docks, or the playfulness of curious fish and lake creatures.

Cullen is angry, and she can’t apologies enough. She swears never to sing again. And she wouldn’t, her voice would be saved for honey and laughter. A spark of her old {.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> See, another update! Mere minutes after the last. <3 I am going to make up for how long you all had to wait. This chapter is very hard for me, as it hits very close to home. In many ways this chapter especially is my story, of trying to believe those who hurt you love you. A coping mechanism that doesn't work, that hurts even worse. But remember always nothing is ever the victims fault, and monsters are monsters no matter how sweetly they smile. As always, take care my loves.


	21. 11th Day of Guardian, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin broke. She broke into a thousand little pieces as her world broke around her, a piece of her breaks away that would never be healed. One day she swore the Chantry and all of it's ilk would break for what they've done.

11th Day of Guardian, 9:32 DRAGON

Nearly months, so close to a year, had passed since that far-off summer, since a Templar was thrown from the Chantry’s embrace and a mage made tranquil, and somewhere in that time Io believes she became pregnant again. It was the eleventh day of Guardian, winter falling away with new life beginning to bloom all around. Nearly poetic, or ironic, she supposed.

 She has a spark of panic when the thought first enters her mind, as she leans over a waste basin. She fears for any child born in this world. Then the thought is pushed away, and she chides herself for it. Cullen would be overjoyed, she thinks. Cullen loved her, Cullen would love their child. Of course.

Iolarin thinks first that she must be sure. She goes to the first person she can think of; perhaps a subconscious thought, plea, for help. Karl could help her. Karl cared about her. Sweet, kind, gentle Karl.

_Karl could save her._

“Karl, can I talk to you?” There is no missing the surprise on his face, but he covers it quickly, and the two make their way to her room. “I haven’t been feeling too well. I was wondering if you could look me over?” He was not as talented as Anders had been with healing magic, but he is the best in Kirkwall. He is the only one she trusts.

After he passes his hands over her, their glowing light making her eyes shine in the dimness of her room. Curtains had been drawn tight, leaving them in dim candle light. He stops dead cold, eyes widening and mouth dropping.

“Maker. Io, tell me who it is.” His hand presses her stomach, and he looks pained. Io panics, pushing his hand away, sitting straight. “By Andraste, has he not stopped? Io, why have you not spoken to Orsino? You cannot let this continue, you can’t let him keep hurting you.” His voice is desperate, raising, and Io has to fight control of the surge of emotions.

“He loves me. Cullen loves me. He would never hurt me!” She clasps a hand over her mouth, and Karl stares wide eyed at her, standing and knocking back the chair.

“That bastard.” She sees in his eyes, his determination. It sparks fear in her, and an image of his mangled corpse flashes through her mind, old threats and old fears. She shoots up, snatching his hand.

“Please! Karl do not do this. Do not leave me.” She feels her walls crumbling, clutches desperately to the illusion she created to survive. Karl wraps her in his arms.

“I will not let him ever hurt you again.” Io clutches to him, shaking.

“Better me than you. Please, my friend. I cannot lose you. I would not live through it.” He sobs into her hair, and Io fights the tears stinging her own eyes. She shakes with the revulsion of every thought she had forced the last months. “Better me a thousand times over.”

“Io. Oh Io. Do not say those things. Please,” he kisses the top of her head, and Io cannot hold on any longer. The lies she told herself, making herself believe the Templar loved her, crash around her. She cannot hold onto them, and she breaks in Karl’s hold.

“He said he would make you, or Alain, suffer if I did not do what he wanted me to.” She confessed tears streaking her pale brown cheeks, ruddy with her emotions. “I would not be able to live with myself. You are my only friends, you’re all I have left. But creators, I can’t do it anymore though. I can’t bear it.” They sink to the floor, and Karl holds her tight to his chest, rocking her back and forth.

“Anders is alive, Io. We have been writing. He’s a grey warden now. He can take us away from here.” He strokes her hair, and Io has to pull back, wide shining eyes looking up through wet lashes. Hope stutters in her chest, honey eyes and cunning smile flooding her thoughts.

“He’s alive?” it hurts to believe, and that smiling face, honey colored eyes, hair, his hand in hers circles over and over in her mind. Anders.

Another lie crumbles away, and she remembers a night, a celebration; drunk off stolen wine, embracing in a hidden corner. Her lips form his name, and Karl sees the hope in her eyes, and something more. It warms his heart, and he knows what he must do. He must get her away, no matter the cost. This was the only way to save her.

“I’ll tell him to meet us, tonight. We’ll get you far away from here, Io. Anders will take you home.” He holds her close, heart pounding rapidly, knows she feels it against her cheek. She clings to his robes. He could save her. He had to. Anders would protect her.

When a slight rap sounds on her door, Io jumps away as if scalded. Karl knows, then, who it must be. Io shakes her head frantically, reaching for him, but it is too late. The door opens, the curly haired Templar steps through. Karl is at his throat, obscenities on his tongue.

Cullen is caught off guard, and they tumble into the hall.

“Karl, no! Stop!” Io’s voice rings around the halls, and Karl pulls back to cast a spell.

“You will never hurt her again!” He condemns, but years of training has made Cullen quicker, and Karl is sent sprawling back, a snarl on the Templar’s lips. Ringing footsteps sound down the hall. Templars are upon them, pulling her away as she reaches for her fellow mage, Karl is subdued and Cullen glares at her in disgust.

She nearly crumbles from the force of their suppression, her magic so far from her reach, if she could even use it now.

“Take them to the Knight-Commander.” He snaps, and a look of hatred sears through her.

***

She is numb, as they are dragged through the hall, and she curses herself a fool. It is all her fault.

When Meredith pronounces judgment, Rite of Tranquility, Io lashes out.

“You can’t! We have been Harrowed!” But she knows, here, that means nothing. “Please. Punish me. Karl was just protecting me. It’s my fault." There is no forgiveness nor pity in the older woman’s cruel eyes.

“Do you have anything to say, Knight-Captain?” She addresses Cullen, and Io’s blood runs cold.

“Nothing, commander. Your judgement is fitting.” Karl snarls at him, and struggles in his bonds. Io pleads with her eyes for him to stop. To not make it worse. But his mind is on her, on saving her. It was his turn to protect her.

“You monster. You rape her, impregnate her, and now you stand there saying she deserves this?”

“Karl-“

“Is this true? Are you pregnant?” Meredith demands, standing forward commandingly.

“It’s true. I examined her-“ Karl is cut off, a backhand across his face. Iolarin flinches, surging forward.

“I did not ask you, _mage_ ,” the word is like a curse on her lips, and Meredith turns her icy eyes on Cullen.

“Knowing this, do you still approve of my judgement, _Templar_?” The threat is obvious, but there is a sick look on Cullen’s face. Karl had struck a nerve. Yet he remains silent. “So be it. This one first. She will watch.” Meredith leaves the room, and Io screams when the Rite begins.

Her voice goes raw with her screams, and she watches in horror as they hauled Karl in front of her.

“I love you, Iolarin. I am so sorry.” Tears streak his face, and Io condemns them all. Her heart hardens, she condemns the chantry, she condemns love, magic. All of this; it was her fault.

She sears every detail of his face into her mind, locking away every last second, she has with him.

Karl’s heart breaks, seeing her tears, knowing her fate. He memorizes every detail of her, remembering every smile and laugh. How happy and filled she had made his life. He prays, that Namia will send his letters to Anders, hopes it is enough to save her.

“I love you Karl,” She sobs, and they brand him, his eyes going dead. Something in her snaps, and she shuts down. Someone lurches forward to catch her. She begs them to end it. To take away the pain.

The rite is simple; a searing pain, performed with ease, and then numbness, a plea, name, on her lips, submission. Nearly as a mercy. Whispers spread through the Circle. Two harrowed mages made tranquil, two harrowed mages attacking a templar. A mage pregnant, begging for the rite. Meredith orders her locked away, for study, observance; this special mage that everyone whispered about. When Karl’s letters from Anders are found, he is kept for bait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well... Here it is. The chapter I know all of you have been dreading, that I was heartbroken to write. So, what will happen next? Io and Karl are tranquil, and Anders doesn't even know she is there. Can Namia deliver the letters to Anders, or will it be too late?  
> Gosh, felt like a TV narrator "find out in the next episode" Blah. But I would really like to hear from you guys, if anyone is still out there reading. <3  
> Please don't hate me for this one, it was simply what had to come next.


	22. 29th Day of Guardian, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders hated. He hated himself for failing to save those he loved so dearly, hated the way everything he loved turned to ash. What he hated worst of all was the injustice of two innocent beautiful lives snuffed out so cruelly.

29th Day of Guardian, 9:32 DRAGON

It is late into the early spring month of Guardian, when Tara Hawke comes to the clinic, requesting maps.

Anders crosses his arms, watching Hawke and their compatriots go. He has an ally now, to help him save Karl. Tara Hawke had agreed, quite willingly. He breathed a little easier, and made ready for tonight. Finally, he would free his friend, and first love. This one he could save.

They make it into the chantry, suspiciously quiet and empty. Anders is on edge. Tara is unsurprised when they are ambushed, and rage courses through Anders, weakening his hold on the spirit within him.

They defeat the Templars quickly, Tara with practiced ease. The spirit fades, as the last enemy falls. Karl’s voice sounds behind him.

“Anders? I- what did you do? It’s like you brought some part of the fade into this world.” He sounds disorientated, and Anders rushes towards him. “No, never mind. Anders, you must save Iolarin. They have her locked in the circle somewhere. They plan to make her tranquil, if they haven’t already. Please, you must save her. Anders, she’s” He breaks off, a panicked look striking his face.

“Karl slow down, what are you talking about?”

“No time, I can feel it fading. Anders, a Templar raped her. She’s pregnant. You are her only hope. Promise me you will save her.” He pleads, gripping Anders shoulders painfully.

“I promise.”

“Maker. I’ll never be whole again. Please, kill me before I forget again! However you brought it back, it’s fading.” Tears pricked Anders eyes, and Karl placed his last hopes into Anders, his last thoughts and feelings of a smiling face glowing in the sunlight as he chased her around the yard.

 _/‘I love you, Karl.’ ‘Karl!’ ‘Catch me if you can!’_ /

‘Be strong, my beloved friend. I’m so sorry, leaving you. Forgive me.’

“Do as he asks, Anders.” Tara urges, and he sees the pity in her eyes, as only a mage can pity such a crime. Anders rushed forward, apology on his lips. When Karl draws his last breath, Anders stands up and away, sorrow gripping his heart.

His last words had been an apology and her name.

They made their way back to his clinic, briefly talking over his condition with Justice. Afterwards, Tara stares at him expectantly, and he silently thanks them.

“I have one more favor to ask. The maps are yours as is my aid whenever you call. I ask just this; help me free one more person. I do not know how; I hadn’t known before that she was even there. Karl never mentioned…” he trailed off, a lump in his throat. Karl said she was pregnant. Raped. Of course Karl had never said anything before. “No matter how, I beg you to help me. She is dear to me, and I will not have Karl’s last moments wasted.”

Anders wondered, in the back of his mind; how close had the two become, that Karl’s only concern was begging for her? Anders knew her well, but Karl and Surana had never spoken as far as he knew. Why had she even been in Kirkwall? So many questions, he hoped she would be whole enough to answer. His hand pressed at a lump beneath his robes on his chest.

Tara shrugged their shoulders, glancing at Varric who nodded. “We will do what we can. It may take time, if it’s true she’s kept under lock. But I swear to you, Anders,” Tara took his hand, earnest look on her face. She was a mage, after all. Of course she would help him save another in danger. “I will get your friend free.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh yeah, point of view change.   
> Again, I am sorry for the massively depressing, and short chapter. It had to come, and so too must the coming chapters. Will they be able to rescue Iolarin? Can she even be made whole?  
> I cannot wait for you all to get more of Tara, though they is more involved in the second part of my story. I hope you like them, and forgive me for all the pain.  
> (Tara is gender fluid between female and Nonbinary. Their pronouns will change sporadically, and it isn't on accident, just letting you know.)


	23. 17th – 18th Days of Cloudreach, 9:32 Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were hollow. Hollow from pain unbearable, from torture as only the Chantry knew how to serve. It was a hollowness that would eat them alive if left to fester.

17th – 18th Days of Cloudreach, 9:32 Dragon

It took two months, but between Tara and their ragtag companions they managed to pull enough strings to save Iolarin. With some well-greased palms, coterie agents slipped into the circle in the dead of night, on the seventeenth of Cloudreach, and set fire to the room she was locked in. She slept under a sleeping agent, and most of her hair was cut and scattered about the scorched bed as sure evidence of her death.

When the fire was finally put out, all that was left was a charred corpse and length of hair braided with beaded leather cord laying frayed on the ground. A Templar confirmed it as hers. Everything neat and tidy, the mage saved. Though never to be whole.

Anders wrung his hands as he waited outside the door to the room she was in, in the back of the hanged man. Tara was in the room currently, and he had trouble finding his courage to enter it. Merrill watched him sympathetically, as did Isabela. It was Fenris who spoke first.

“Just get it over with, mage. All this effort, and you’re too cowardly to see this girl.” He mocked, and Anders shot him a scathing look. They all sat up straighter when Tara exited, weary look on their face.

“Anders-“ She broke off, looking away. Dread plopped in his stomach, and he fought hard against the spirit. He pushed passed her into the room.

Io sat on the bed, eyes glazed over as she stared ahead. Her once long black curls were messily chopped and hung round her jaw. There was a starburst brand upon her brow, and there was no mistaking the hollowness of her gaze when she turned to look at him. His heart broke, and it took all he had to keep justice down.

“Oh, Larin… What have they done to you?” His voice cracked, and he took shaky steps into the room. Every memory of her smile, large vibrant eyes, spoke to how wrong this was.

“I know you.” It was wrong. Her voice was monotone, all wrong. Her skin was pale, eyes sunken in. Beneath the plain shawl, Anders could see the shape of her belly, too round to be fat. It was a knife in his heart, and he fell to his knees at her side, wrapping his arms around her.

“Maker, they will pay for this.” It was Isabela who came into the room, sometime later, tugging him away. Io never moved, dead eyes staring straight through him.

“It isn’t normal, is it?” Merril questioned, quietly as they sat around a table. Even Fenris was somber, sitting a good distance from Anders. Tara studied the table.

“No. As far as I know harrowed mages are not supposed to be made tranquil. But there is no mistaking, she is…tranquil.” The last word barely a whisper. Isabela gripped Anders hand, and a tear slid down his cheek. It was silent, hanged man cleared out for this. Everyone stares at Anders expectantly.

“I failed them.” He says weakly, and Carver stands up abruptly, a pained look at his sister. He had seen the elf girl. Horror raced through him at the thought of Tara ever looking that way. That brand and dead eyes a haunting sight.

“I need a drink.” He came back shortly, arm full of bottles. Everyone drank heartily.

“What are you going to do?” It was Aveline, directed at Anders yet her gaze was fixed on the hall leading towards that room.

“I… I don’t know. It’s barbaric, what they’ve done.” His voice shakes. “You don’t know her. This, this is wrong. She was kind, so full of life. They did this to keep her quiet.” He stopped, taking a long drink from the bottle.

“It’s unwise for her to stay here, at any rate. There is no saying who might recognize her.” Fenris spoke, but not unkindly. “There must be somewhere she can be hidden, until you think on it further.” Tara sighed, and looked around the table. Anders looked at her numbly.

“You mentioned, once, that you believe she was Dalish, before being sent to Kinloch.” They turned to Merrill, who flushed. “Do you think they would be willing to take her in, for a short time?” Merrill sighed, giving Hawke a sad look.

“What is one more troubled elf?” Anders thought of Feynriel, the young mage Tara had rescued. He wondered how Io might have felt, before, about staying with the Dalish. Now he doubts she will feel one way or another about it.

“I will ask Marethari, then.” Tara gives Merrill a small playful smile, then stands. “No time like the present.” She glances at Anders before looking to Varric.

“I have it all taken care of. No one will bother us tonight.” Hawke goes to leave, Fenris, Aveline, Carver and Merrill following them. Varric stands, and nods once to Anders, before heading to his office.

“You should go and rest, love. I can watch over her.” Isabela encourages, a kind smile on her lips. Anders looks down the hall.

“I feel as if this is all my fault. If only I had acted sooner, maybe I could have saved her.” Isabela’s hand clamped hard on his shoulder and he winced.

“There’s no use in blaming yourself. We will work this out. Now go sleep. Let the rest of us handle this.” She stood, sauntering down the hall towards the silent room.

***

The next day Tara collects him and the others, and they escort Iolarin through the city, and Sundermount. The elf is silent the whole way, never complaining nor much of anything, even throughout the initial exam; Anders forces himself through it, fighting the desire to turn away. Marethari agrees to watch over the girl, a look of pity, as one of the Dalish lead Surana away, on her face.

“It is sad, what the chantry does to mages. We will watch over her until you can find something better. She will come to no harm here.” This she addresses to Anders, and he has to look away. He knows his face is sallow, bags under his eyes. He could not sleep.

“Let us know if anything comes up.” Tara said, bowing her head before turning away. Anders follows with one last look to Iolarin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter for today. <3 hope you all had a nice Valentines day, and that these sad chapters didn't bring you down too much. More to come on the morrow! There is light at the end of this tunnel (shhh, spoilers).  
> Until then, good night and sleep well!


	24. 3rd – 17th Days of Bloomingtide, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders wept. He wept for the woman who was lost to him, wept over never seeing or hearing her joy. He wept in self hatred for not saving her when he should have.

3rd – 17th Days of Bloomingtide, 9:32 DRAGON

Tara goes to visit often, bringing no change of news. They are only two weeks from setting off, and Anders is no closer to finding a solution.

“With this expedition, you can have some of the profits to put into someplace where she can stay.” Varric suggests, one day over a drink. Isabela nods.

“While you’re gone, I can take to visiting her.” Anders gives her a look of thanks, though his eyes are bloodshot, and it’s obvious to everyone that he couldn’t take much more of this.

“Thank you, Bella.” He rests his head on the table, and Tara comes through the door. She plops on the nearest chair, sighing heavily.

“Why does everyone and their mother in this city think I can solve all their problems?” They remark bitterly, throwing an arm over their face. Varric raises a brow. “Stuff it, dwarf.”

“You could always say no.” Hawke stuck out her tongue, snatching away his mug to take a gulp from it.

“Despite their gruff demeanor, Hawke’s got a heart of gold.” Bella teases, then hisses when a boot meets her calf.

“You’ll ruin my reputation, saying nonsense like that.” Tara turned her attention to Anders. “I am going to Sundermount today. Will you still not come? Marethari thinks it would be good for her to see a familiar face.” Ander turned away, sighing heavily.

“I can’t do it Hawke. Even the thought of seeing what they’ve done to her brings up so much anger and hate. She’s better off, not seeing that. I would rather not have justice come out. To see her for a moment, as she was, only to have it snatched away? Too cruel for me to stand.” His voice was a whisper by the end, and he gripped the scroll in his pocket.

“Anders. I understand your reserve, but you have to see her, before we leave. Tranquil or no, being surrounded by strangers somewhere unknown isn’t good for her. Just think about it?” Tara stood, their hand clasping his arm briefly before they strode away.

***

They were to leave in a few hours, and only now could Anders bring himself to heed Hawke’s advice. A month since they had freed her. He made his way across the paths to the Dalish camp, heart heavy, justice pressing beneath his skin.

He entered the camp, and he saw her sitting off with Feynriel. Her eyes were still hollow, and he had to force the painful steps towards her. Up close, her eyes were worse. They had always been a dark brown, nearly black. Now they seemed bottomless, devoid of any of the life that once always shone there.

As he feared, justice pushed through. It was brief, a snarl of anger before he got it under control. Feynriel scurried away, biting his lip.

Yet unlike Karl she sat there same as before. He wondered which was worse; having her back briefly, or nothing at all.

“You were the one in Ferelden, the one always escaping. Is there something you need?” That voice was like pinpricks against his skin, and he tossed the scroll into her lap, looking away.

“It won’t do you any good now, but once you loved the chance to read anything new. A friend of mine, she wrote that. Apparently, some spirit locked in an amulet, in some ancient ruin, passed the knowledge onto her. Didn’t do her much good, her not being a mage, but she took it down for others to have the chance to learn from it.” His voice broke off, and he glanced down at her. She had taken up the parchment, carefully unraveling it.

“Thank you. Knowledge is very useful.” He turned away and fled, heart beating wildly. He welcomed, guiltily, the excuse of this expedition to be far away. He needed space and time, before he knew what to do about all this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gah, it is hard even going back and proofreading these chapters for posting.   
> In a note, I will be posting a short story accompanying this piece that just kind of glosses over the expedition and what not. I couldn't really find a way to coherently mix it in with the main story, so you'll all have that special treat.   
> I am so thrilled to be getting feed back and kudos from you guys again! It really inspires me.


	25. 30th Day of Bloomingtide, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin slept. She slept under the confines of the brand, slept were dreams and pain could not reach her. Until her sleep was shattered and it all came horribly rushing back.

30th Day of Bloomingtide, 9:32 DRAGON

Two weeks after the expedition set off, Merril came to Fenris. She was nervous, anxiously pacing in front of his door, before she hurried in.

“Hear me out, please? I know how very little you care about mages.” She pressed on, when Fenris glared at her intrusion. “But Isabela and I were talking; we think it might be good for you to go see Surana. You know more, about, well,” She stumbled, and Fenris laughed derisively.

“About being a slave, captive of the demented will of others.” He finished for her, and she glared at him.

“Yes. From what we’ve gotten from her so far, we know she was locked up for a month before Karl, before Anders friend, was used as bait. We think there’s even more we don’t know. You better than the rest of us, besides Anders, know a bit of what it’s like to be under someone else power. If you, well,” She breathed heavily, looking away from him. “If we know what happened, why she was made tranquil, what happened… Answers are better than none.”

Fenris was no fool. He knew she was here for Anders. Despite the other mages dislike of her, she was trying to do him a favor. Get him answers, to give him that much. Even if they could never get his friends back, he would at least have answers.

“Fine. I think it will do little good, but I will go see if she will speak to me.” He didn’t fear a tranquil mage, and he knew Hawke would appreciate it. Merrill beamed at him, clapping her hands once.

“Thank you.” She bowed once before hurrying from the house, likely to tell Isabela. Fenris sighed, pulling on the rest of his armor before he made his way to the dalish camp.

The girl was sitting with Feynriel, once again. The scroll was rolled up in her lap, and she seemed to be explaining something to the younger boy.

“You may be right, according to the evidence of your explanation and experiences. It is of no use now, however. We will never know. It is beyond me now.” She turned her void eyes on him, and Fenris had to repress a shudder. Feynriel turned, glaring at him briefly before standing.

“I’ll see you later.” He muttered to the tranquil elf before skittering away.

“You are another of Tara Hawke’s companions. Is there something you need? I believe I have answered any questions pertaining to this situation as I could.” Fenris crossed his arms, inspecting her. She did not seem any different from tranquil he had met, but her eyes unnerved him.

“What were you talking about to the boy?” He challenged, eyes traveling over to where the kid had run off to.

“He is under the impression that I could answer questions the others could not. He believes we share a similar connection to the fade.” He jerked harshly towards her at that remark.

“Why would he think that?” This was certainly new information.

“I believe a spirit told him. One that claims to have spoken to me. I have no recollection of it, same as many of the events surrounding that which made me this way.” This was certainly a development, and he looked her over anew. She was older than Feynriel, certainly any such talents would have been known in the circle.

“A spirit, or demon?”

“Spirit. Of love, he says.” Matter of fact, monotone. It grated on his nerves for some reason. “I would not know. Tell me, will I be returning to the circle soon? I have duties that need attending.” He frowned at her odd comment.

“What duties?”

“The Templar, the father, will be very upset at my absence.” She was so blasé about it.

“The Templar who raped you?”

“I do not understand the question.” He frowned again.

“I need to speak with the keeper, where is she?” The girl stood, tucking the scroll into her outfit. She wore a simple shirt and trousers, and had at some point adopted the habit most elves had of not wearing shoes.

“I will take you to her.” She gestured for him to follow, and he did. They made their way off to the outskirts of the camp, and Fenris barely had time to react before a swarm of spiders descended upon them.

To her credit, the tranquil kept her distance from the creatures. Until the point where she was knocked over by one of them before he got to it. Thankfully he killed it before it managed to do much more, or so he thought.

“By the creators. Are the two of you alright?” Marethari called, hurrying over to them. “I am sorry. I should have warned someone to keep you away from here while I dealt with the nest.” Fenris grunted, wiping spider entrails from his sword before reaching to pull Surana up. She had blood and venom seeping from her side, and her skin was growing paler, clammy.

He gripped one of her wrists, and when she reached with her other to clasp above his elbow they both froze. It felt like lightening shooting through his arm from her touch, and his markings glowed. She cried out, a similar pain coursing through her. Her eyes glowed briefly before she fell back, eyes rolling into her head. Feynriel ran over, panic written on his face.

“What happened?” Fenris sunk to his knees, gasping and staring at the girl in shock. Feynriel repeated himself.

“I don’t know.” Marethari knelt next to them, looking him over before turning to the now unconscious Surana.

“She’s not breathing. Feynriel, go get help.” Yet the boy did not move, his eyes were wide, his posture stiff. There was a swirl of some burning energy before the girl shot up, gasping loudly.

Her eyes were wide, and full of fear. The starburst brand upon her brow gone.

“What have you done?”

***

Fenris was ushered away quickly, Dalish surrounding the girl before he could demand answers. He trudges back to the mansion, surly expression keeping everyone at arm’s length.

It is near sunset when Isabela arrives. There is something like awe on her face when she flops in the chair across from him.

“What?” He snaps, annoyed at her staring.

“You haven’t heard then?”

“Heard what?” His brow twitches, and he downs the rest of the bottle on the table.

“Apparently, you’ve found the cure to Tranquility.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha! I couldn't keep her that way for long, you know? And everything will be explained in the chapters to come, I promise it should all make sense. I make daring use of knowledge that no one really has at this point in the story.  
> I hope you all don't feel that things are too rushed, or too out of character. I would love to get some feed back from everyone though! Positive or negative, I do not mind!


	26. 1st – 3rd Days of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin seethed. She seethed with the pain that she could not put down, seethed with anger for the friend ripped from her. She felt as if her heart was nothing more than an open seething wound.

1st – 3rd Days of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

Io tosses under the sheets wrapped around her, having fainted shortly after her outburst. It isn’t long before she awakens, and there is a stricken looking Feynriel near her, talking quickly with the older elf, Marethari.

“I’m telling you, I felt the spirit. Suddenly it was everywhere, then nowhere. I think it saved her life. I have been trying to block them out, but that one kept persisting. Telling me I needed to get through to her. It told me she needed our help.” Io moaned loudly, drawing their attention.

“Hush dear. Tell me, what is the last thing you remember?” Io curled in on herself, trying to block out the memories.

“Everything. Maker. Make it go away. Make it stop,” She cried, and the elf’s brows drew together in disbelief.

“Da’len, tell me what happened.” She demanded, and large brown black eyes stared up at her, full of life and swirling emotion.

“Why did you bring it back? Why? Now I can’t make it go away. Now it’s part of me. It’s a curse.” She turned away, and Marethari frowned.

“I told you. It’s the spirit.” Feynriel commented, and Io’s eyes shot to him. He deflated slightly, unable to meet her eyes.

“Start from the beginning, da’len.” The Keeper encouraged kindly, and Iolarin took a deep shuddering breath.

***

Two days later there was a knock on the door. Fenris frowned, anyone who knew he was here hardly ever bothered knocking. He was cautious as he opened the door, and stared dumbfounded at the face that stared up at him.

“I came to apologize.” It was soft, but determined. It was alive. Her eyes were wide, and nearly black, but not devoid as before. He blinked at her a few times, causing her to clear her throat. “It’s rude to stare, will you let me in or not?” He grunted when she didn’t wait for an answer, and merely pushed her way in.

“So, it is true, then?” He closed the door, turning to stare at her. She lowered the hood of her cloak.

“’It’? If by that you mean my suddenly no longer being tranquil? Yeah.” She shrugged, brushing curly strands from her eyes, huffing slightly when they just fell back in place.

“How?” She took the time to glance around before answering, grimacing slightly at the disarray.

“That nice bit of spider venom, shutting down my heart. Spirit rushing in to save my life, bam, fade seeped back into my mind, and reacting to the lyrium that your markings appear to be made of. After I had been freed from it all.” She sighed, and shook her head. “I wanted to apologize for whatever pain it all caused you. I’ve been informed you don’t like mages very much, and that I probably made it worse.” She scowled at him before she seemed to notice, and looked away.

“You were ‘freed from it all’?” He asked, still a bit befuddled over the difference between the husk he had met; and with everything she was saying.

“Yeah. You would see it that way too, seeing how much magic destroys everything. Though you already hate magic, no need for me to encourage that.” She crossed her arms. “Difference here; I hate magic, you hate mages. I hate the thing I was cursed with, that only took away anything I loved, whereas you hate a whole group of _people_ for the crimes of a handful.” She stopped, screwing up her face.

“So, you came here to berate me? Not knowing me?” Io flushed, looking away.

“Can’t say that’s entirely true. But you already know that.” He turned away, trying to deny that she would know anything about him. But of course, that had gone both ways.

“How much did you see?” She pressed, and there was fear in her eyes. He leaned against the wall.

“Nothing, not that makes any sense. Monsters, darkness, some faces I don’t recognize, pain.” He paused, closing his eyes from the stabbing pain in his head. The shock had sent more than pain; he had seen flashes of her life, and she had seen flashes of his.

“Odd.” She murmured and turned away from him, unhooking the cloak. “You hate mages because of ones that abuse their power. Should I hate all Templars?” He grunted, disliking her comparison. “Anyone who wields power over someone else, has the ability to abuse it. I wonder, do you think I had any power over anyone, that earned me what happened?”

“No one deserves that.” The words escaped him before he thought of it. Though they were not untrue.

“There are good Templars, and there are bad. Same with mages. Do you hate all of us? Are we all so terrible, that we deserve to be treated like criminals based on mishap of birth.” He could hear the tears in her voice, and he berated himself, yet the old fire and sting of his life burned under his skin.

“Mages are the only ones who wield that kind of encompassing power.”

She spun around, glaring at him. “So, someone who had never done any harm, to anyone ever; who was kind and caring, they deserve to be locked up like animals? To be branded like an animal and stripped of anything that made him alive, stripped of every emotion and love for anyone.” He stepped back, her anger like a slap across the face. She was not talking about herself.

“He did not deserve his fate. Yet, because he cared about me and because they had the power to, he was stripped from everything that he was. You have no idea what it’s like, to be separated from the fade, from emotions.” She broke off, a sob ripping from her throat. He could do nothing but stare at her helplessly. “Do you hate every mage, that even people like him deserve to lose what it’s like to feel, to love?” He remembered the mages last words, after they had cut through all the Templars and he had a glimpse of himself back.

His last pleas had not been for himself. Only for this girl here, begging in her own way to make him see that they weren’t all monsters.

“Hate the ones who hurt you, hate me, but don’t you dare hate all mages. Don’t you dare stand there thinking them beneath you because a misfortune at birth. So many are kind wonderful people, who deserve so much better.”

“I’m sorry.” She shook her head, stepping back.

“No, curse it all. I did not come here for this. I just-“ She heaved in a breath, her round belly pronounced with each intake. “In part, I wanted to apologize, in another I wanted to make sure you… hadn’t seen too much. Whatever you did see, swear you will tell no one?” He blinked at her, confused.

“What do you mean?”

“One man has already died, because he knew and cared what happened to me. No one else should suffer the same. I’m not worth it.” She grabbed her cloak and made to move past him.

The memory of Ander’s sallow face, of that mage Karl pleading for her safety with his last breaths, and Tara’s tired and weary eyes, made him reach out to stop her.

“Isn’t that for them to decide?” She paused, giving him an unreadable look before she pulled away and out the door.

***

Io made her way through the street, hood pulled over her face. She managed to reach lowtown on her own. These streets were more familiar to her than they should be to any mage spent locked away. It was a bit different, confusing, when full of people. She kept her head bent low, avoiding eye contact with anyone.

She smiled when she spotted Feynriel, huddled over by a stall, speaking to his father. He had offered to escort her to Kirkwall, and she had taken him up on the offer. She breathed deeply, the smells of spices, dirt and perfumes wafted the air. It was heady and intoxicating.

“There you are!” Feynriel called, and she hurried over to him. She gave Vincento a tight-lipped smile, which he returned, along with a nod. “Sur-“ Feynriel broke off with an apologetic look. She had asked him to not use her name while they were in the city.

“Solana.” She offered, holding out her hand to his father. The man shook it once, glancing back to Feynriel.

“The boy talks much about you. You are trying to help him with his problem?” The man’s voice was thickly accented, even poised at a whisper.

“I hope he hasn’t gossiped too much. I do not know much more than he does; and it is unsafe to discuss such things in the open.” She shot the blond boy a chiding glance, and he flushed.

“Of course, of course. The hangedman, then?” Io quirked a brow, but followed them as he led the way down steps and through the throng of people. They came upon a disheveled looking pub, and upon entering Io had to force herself to keep from gaging.

“Do they have an actual hanged corpse rotting somewhere?” She muttered, and Vincento gave her a weak knowing smile.

“You get used to it, after a time. Or so I’m told.” He motioned to an empty table in the corner, and they settled themselves there. Io and Feynriel kept their hoods up.

“As I was saying; I do not know more beyond what he does,” She rolled her eyes. “Evidence says we suffer the same thing, but I cannot tell you how I keep the demons or spirits at bay while he has difficulty.” She rolled her shoulders, adjusting the tunic she wore. She was unused to anything that wasn’t a robe.

“You speak as if it is a curse?” He gave Feynriel a panicked look, who in turn pouted at her.

“Sorry. No, it’s not a curse. No more than any magic, anyways.” A point of contention, between her and the Dalish. They coveted those with magic, while Io could see it as nothing more than a blight inflicted upon the innocent. She wouldn’t point that out now, worrying the man more than he was. “It is unknown though. The dalish do what they can. If I can figure out what I do differently, it could help more.” She frowned at the table, nose scrunching up.

“Su-Solana says it has just been instinctual, though we’ve theorized her harrowing might have had something to do with it.” Feynriel joined in, scooting closer to her.

Io nodded. “But that isn’t an option for Feynriel. Besides, it’s barbaric. I would not even want to risk it unless we know that is the only choice.” She rubbed her brow, sighing heavily.

“Well, isn’t this a sight!” Rang a woman’s voice, and Io turned to see a scantily dressed woman approach them. Io frowned, dark brows drawing together in confusion. “Ouch. That look hurts sweetheart. Though I suppose I can hardly expect you to remember me.” She pulled up a chair next to Io, straddling it.

“Hello Isabela.” Feynriel chirped, and when Io looked at him she noted the color in his cheeks and on his ears. She gave him a teasing smile, to which he reddened further.

“Hello kid. The dalish treating you well?” This seemed to be posed to the both of them, and Io raised a brow, trying to remember where she had seen the woman before. Her golden eyes sparkled.

“Of course. Solana, Isabella is one of Hawke’s companions. She visited you while… Um…” He trailed off awkwardly, and it dawned on Io.

“Right. The one with the dirty jokes. You know, it’s cruel to taunt Tranquil.” Unlike anyone else, Io wasn’t embarrassed to bring up what she had been. Everyone else treated it like a dirty word. Io glared at Isabela, annoyance at how everyone treated her as if she was fragile.

“Oooh, watch out kitten. Sends tingles down my spine you looking at me like that.” Isabela reached out, playful smile on her lips. She toyed with one of Io’s short curls. Io blushed deeply, looking away from the woman. “That’s adorable.” Bela breathed, eyes wide. “You really are much more beautiful this way. So alive.”

“Isabela! Who are you talking to- Oh!” Merrill popped around the corner, large eyes widening. She stared at Io for a moment, dumbfounded. “I had heard, but I didn’t really think it was possible, but here you are!” She smiled widely, approaching Io and staring long into her eyes.

“Kitten, I think you frightened the girl.” Merrill flushed, pulling back and giving Isabela an awkward look.

“Sorry, sorry. Being Dalish, you know? Still learning boundaries.” She brushed some hair from her face, blushing slightly. Io nodded, a bit dumbfounded.

Merrill pulled up a seat on the other side of Isabela, and she grinned at the pirate woman. “I managed to get here all on my own. I didn’t get lost once.” She said proudly. Io watched her curiously, noting the odd accent, the markings. Yet Io could not remember seeing her amongst the dalish.

“You’re settling in well in the alienage? It’s so hard to feel at place with the dalish.” Feynriel asked, leaning over the table. Io listened to them talking, heart aching at how relaxed they were, how at ease they were around one another. It made her miss dearly the time she had spent with Alain, Namia, and Karl.

Io stood abruptly, feeling tears sting her eyes. “I’m heading back, Feynriel. I’ll make it on my own.” She turned to leave, hands gripped tightly at her side. She was in such a hurry to flee she ran into someone’s chest.

White marked hands gripped her arms, preventing a fall, but quickly withdrew.

“Fenris, you made it. I had wondered if you would back out of this game.” Isabela called, sauntering over. Io pulled her hood closer about her face, feeling the tears threatening to fall. But Fenris had seen the shimmering in her eyes, and raised a brow at Bela. Io did not see the woman shake her head, a sad look on her face.

“I have to earn my money back somehow. The mage isn’t here, so I might have a chance. Aveline should be here soon.” Bela slid her arm through his, then looked at Io straightforward. Io tried avoiding her gaze.

“You should join us some time. It isn’t quite so fun without the others, but we make due.” Io nodded, before pushing her way past them and into the outdoors. The sun was close to setting, and she knew better than to stay in the city past dark.

***

Feynriel watched the woman go, pity clouding his face. “She seems so sad. I wish I knew how to help her.” He fiddled with his cloak, pulling it down as the others led him to a back room for the game. “You should hear the way she talks about magic sometimes. The Dalish tell me all magic is sacred, but she seems to view it as nothing more than a curse. And offhand sometimes she seems to blame herself for the things that happened.” He looked at Fenris, quickly glancing away.

“You keep staring, mage. Speak.” He snapped, a bit annoyed at the constant looks.

“Hawke said, during one of her visits, that you would know best how she feels. What does that mean?” Fenris rolled his eyes, plopping down in his usual seat.

“I was a slave, in the imperium. I don’t see the similarities.” He blinked when Isabela sighed.

“Alright. Hawke made me swear not to say anything, so you all better keep quite: Some of the things the girl would say, when she was tranquil… Hawke thinks it was similar, to what you told her. I don’t have all the details, and I won’t press…” She gave Fenris a meaningful look. “But, Surana… She would constantly say she had to return. Completely loyal to the Templars, though she would never say their names.”

Fenris grimaced, remembering his drunken rambling to Hawke about Denarius and what happened with the Qunari. He had slaughtered them, at the command of his master. If Hawke saw similarities to how he had been then, to how she was… Maybe it was not so wise to leave her on her own. Not after all their hard work to free her.

Isabela patted him arm, seeing his look. “Don’t worry. We have people looking after her.” Then she turned to the table, and they started the game.

***

Once Iolarin was safely outside the city she pulled her hood down, and let her skin soak up the setting sun. She was glad she had made it through the city unnoticed, and would take her time making the rest of her way to the camp.

She watched her steps carefully, going slowly. Living in the circle she was hardly use to so much walking, and her growing belly made the trip even more arduous. She stopped frequently to catch her breath.

During one such stop, she flung off the cloak, dabbing at her brow. Summer was in full swing, the heat blistering at night, and the air stifling in the dawn with humidity. Io pondered how the Dalish would handle the winter.

She hummed softly, rubbing her hand over her stomach, staring down at it. She wondered if it was normal to be so large. She placed the time at about five months, though she couldn’t be certain; it was not like he had ever stopped raping her.

She sighed, and rubbed gingerly at her breasts, swollen and tender. The size of her growing body had made it difficult for them to find clothes for her; apparently most dalish were not so big, even when pregnant. She huffed, thinking of the weight living a life of little exercise had built up. Even with much of the weight lost in the Gallows, she was still fuller formed than most dalish.

The sky was a fading purple and red.

“Look at what we have here lads; an elf strayed from her clan!”

***

Isabela laughed as she won another round. Her luck was better without Varric or Anders around. She grinned at the rosy color on Merrill and Feynriels cheeks, having drunken their fill of booze, lightweights as they were. Fenris and Aveline were glaring at her.

“I think that’s enough for one day.” The guardswoman huffed, a scowl marring her handsome face. Isabela pouted at her. “Don’t give me that. Feynriel should be returned to the dalish, and I’m out of coin I can afford to lose.” She tossed her cards on the table and stood.

“I don’t,” Hiccup. “need a baby sitter. Can make it my own. Don’t,” hiccup. “need to leave yet.” The table rolled their eyes at Feynriels slurred denials, and Merrill stood on wobbly feet. Isabella patted her shoulder.

“Fenris will take your turn tonight kitten. Let’s get you home.” She motioned her head at Fenris, who rolled his eyes and stood to help the kid pull on his cloak and boots.

He all but carried Feynriel out of the city, grumbling at being stuck with babysitting mages. They managed to make a fairly good pace though, and once they were out in the open the cool fresh air helped the boy perk up a bit. He pulled away from Fenris and walked on his own, if a bit unsteadily.

The sun had just set, and the first stars were twinkling in the sky when they heard the screams, piercing the air with loud thundering cracks.

***

Io stood quickly when the men approached, tugging her cloak back on.

“I don’t have anything of value.” She called to them, gesturing to her person. Which was true; she had no coin, or weapon.

“Now that ain’t true missy. You’d be plenty of value; pretty elves always fetch a high price. Don’t they boys? And you’re pretty indeed.” He let out a whistle, and the men behind him jeered revolting things.

Their words triggered a panic within her, and she was back in the circle, Cullen towering over her and describing all the things he’d do to her. Her stomach churned, and she sank to her knees.

“A fainter! This one won’t even put up a fight. There’s no fun in that.” The leader charged, and grabbed a fistful of her hair in his hands. She cried out, throwing up her hands.

“No!” But this was not Cullen, nor any Templar, and her magic was not suppressed by their unnatural abilities. She instinctively lashed out, magic pouring from her hands.

The man screamed, staggering back. The scream choked off abruptly with a loud crack like splitting earth, and Io looked up in horror; where a man had stood, now was a fracturing statue. Io sobbed, curling in on herself. She was a freak.

The other men yelled in alarm, and moved to swarm her. One grabbed her throat, another her arm. She stayed limp in their clutches, pressing her powers down desperately.

A glowing light flashed, and one of the men crumpled to the floor. The others screamed, and charged at a glowing figure. Io’s vision blurred, and she sunk into the man holding her, who grunted, caught off balance. A blast of energy knocked him away, and Io fell to the ground once again.

“Shit.” A gruff voice muttered, and she felt arms envelope her. The yelling had ceased, and the stench of blood and shit hung heavy in the air. Io gagged, nearly vomiting in the person's arms.

“Is she okay? We should hurry to camp.” A softer voice, familiar. Io whimpered, trying to push the person away, weakly.

“Stop. Please. Don’t do this. Please.” She murmured, vision fading in and out. She caught a glimpse of white hair. “I’ll do anything. Don’t hurt them.” She saw Karl, his eyes staring widely at her, comforting her, even as they pressed the brand to his head.

“Put her on my back. It’s better if your hands are free.” Someone’s hands under her knees, arms slung over their shoulders.

“Cullen, please. I loved you,” She breathed, consciousness surrendering to sleep.

***

Feynriel’s eyes widened, her words shooting through him. He watched Fenris checking the bodies, hiding evidence of the magic he had cast. He knew that name. A joke on everyone’s lips, mocking a self-important Templar. Should he tell them?

The tears he felt on his neck where Iolarin’s face was pressed urged him to wait.

He shifted her slightly, walking over to the statue; it bore a horror-stricken face, and made him uneasy. He had never heard of anyone turning someone to stone before, not like this.

Fenris walked over, scowling darkly at the thing.

“We can’t leave this here. It puts the Dalish in danger, if any Templars find it.” He pushed Feynriel towards the direction of the camp, obviously to keep him from watching. Feynriel kept his back turned, but could not block out the sound of cracking stone, shattering from whatever Fenris had done.

“Let us hurry.” He urged Feynriel on, and they hurried the rest of the way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoop, there it is.   
> A bit more of an explanation, though still a lot more to be discovered along the way.  
> How will Io cope with everything that has happened, and what will she do now? Will she become part of Hawke's ragtag companions? Who knows! (Well, I do but shhhh)


	27. 4th Day of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin struggled. She struggled to find her footing in the world outside circle walls, struggled to cope with surviving. The struggle threatened to drown her like a flood.

4th Day of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

Her dreams were filled with nightmares, demons taunting her while defenseless. It was always the same; twisting her memories.

She awoke with a start when a cold cloth was pressed to her brow. Feynriels concerned face hovered above her. She wiped quickly at the tears she could feel on her cheeks.

“How are you feeling? You’ve been asleep since we found you yesterday…” The young man worried his lip, blond hair falling into his face. “Surana… You mentioned a name.” Io bolted upright, covering his mouth with her hand. Her eyes were wide with fear, heart pounding wildly. It confirmed his fears.

“Please, don’t say anything. Please.” She begged him, and he removed her hand from his face, gripping it tightly.

“Why? The others could do something about it.”

“Do something about what?” It was Fenris, poking into the Aravel where she slept. He frowned at her, his displeasure radiating off his stiff posture.

Io begged Feynriel to silence with her eyes, but he turned away from her. She wondered what passed, in the look the two shared.

“I think you should take Hawke’ advice.” Was all the young man said, slipping out past Fenris. The white marked elf sighed, rolling his eyes and crouching into the covering.

“We saw what happened. Tell me, if you wield that kind of magic, why did you not fight?” Io turned away, shame boiling in her belly. She pulled her knees to her chest. “Do you still wish to return to the circle?” She snapped her eyes back up to his face, but his thoughts were unreadable.

“What kind of question is that?” she shot defensively, and his scowl deepened. Io had to look away, lest she give herself away.

“If they told you to kill a group of innocents, would you?” Io shuddered, pulling the sheet around her shoulders.

“No.”

“Would you turn yourself in, even if it meant death?”

“Yes. No. I- I don’t know.” She still felt the pull of denial, of her defense while Cullen had her. He loved her. She was pregnant with his child. She had to return. She bit into her lip, wrapping her arms around herself. “I have to go back,”

“No one deserves what you went through. Even mages.”

“I do. I’m a freak. You saw what I can do, with barely a thought, after months and months without ever calling upon my magic. I can enter people’s dreams…I can do things, horrible things. The people I love die.” She thought of the child growing in her, of the one she lost before. Her love was a curse.

“Freak. I know that name well.” He held out his hand, the lyrium markings flaring to light. “I was paraded around, these marking on display because they made me threatening, because they made me freakish.” He smirked grimly at her, when she looked at his face. “I know what it’s like to want to return to someone, even though you shouldn’t.” He remembered Tara, their gentleness when he talked to them. Maybe he was too harsh.

“If you’re trying to comfort me, or bond; you’re awfully rubbish at it.” Her voice was strained, but she smiled at him, leaning back. “I don’t want revenge, and I know there is good reason for me to stay away. But, the things I had to do, to survive and keep the people I loved alive,” A shaky breath. “You don’t get over it. I wonder if I will ever stop seeing his face in my nightmares.” Fenris relaxed against a pole, eyeing her.

“Karl was a friend of yours, yes? Do you not want revenge for him?” Her laughed shocked him, and he raised his brows.

“No. I am the one to blame for what happened to him. I should have begged to be killed, instead of sent here to Kirkwall. No one would have had to suffer. Even the Templar; I pity him. It is because of me, everything that has happened.” She broke off, Fenris angrily grabbing at her wrist, holding them up for her to see the scarred and deformed flesh.

“You blame yourself, for someone else’s cruelty? Their actions are their own. You say it would have been better had you been dead, but how would Anders feel, had he known you died? Do you think you made no better difference, living?” He didn’t know why her words had made him angry, but they had. She simply looked at him sadly.

“Everyone, including Anders, would be better off if I died.”

“You are a fool if you truly believe that.” He pulled away, and made to leave the tent. “Mage or no; there is nothing about you that is at fault for what others choose to do. Would you leave that child you carry without a mother, and a monster for a father?” He stormed away, leaving Io reeling with the harshness of his words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do take some creative liberties.... But this is my story, so I don't care! I literally wrote this story for myself, y'know? But I want to share it with all of you, and I hope you love it as much as I do.  
> Io is struggling, she has been through a lot. But please keep in mind that victims are never to blame for the abuse someone puts them through; if you know someone struggling with recovery from abuse, remind them of that always, okay? It isn't their fault, no matter what their abuser tried to make them think.


	28. 18th Day of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris tried. He tried to change the way he treated others, he tried to hold on to the memories he had. He found he would try to do anything, for Tara Hawke.

18th Day of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

Two weeks passed, and Io grew more restless and sunk further into depression as the time went. Feynriel was at a loss. There was nothing he had tried that worked to bring her out of it. He did not know her well enough. So he made his way into Kirkwall, all the way to bang on a door in hightown.

“Whatever you did, you need to fix it. She does not eat; she does not sleep. You stormed away, and whatever you said or did has made her worse than before. Tara made me promise to keep her safe.” The young man’s eyes stung with tears, and Fenris glared at him, hair in disarray, eyes bloodshot. Drinking all night, most likely.

“I simply told her the truth. She has to face it, and move on.” Feynriel pushed at his chest, and shoved inside the house, slamming the door.

“She was raped, tortured, forced to watch her friend made into something soulless, and she blames herself for all these things. Do you think harsh words were really the right way to go about it?” He pushed at the elf again, despair across his face. “Do you want to know something, that she told me? The man who did it all to her was someone she had been in love with! Who told her all the awful things that happened to him, or anyone around her, was her fault. The bastard walks free, promoted for what he did to her. The oh so great Knight-Captain, rewarded for crushing a mage so well she accepted the rite of tranquility with gusto!” He froze, eyes going wide.

“Knight-Captain?”

Feynriel drew back, shaking his head. “She can’t know I told you. Please. Don’t do anything. She begged me to stay silent.”

Now it all made sense. Of course, the Knight-Captain was the one. What had been his words?

 _‘Mages aren’t people like you and I,’_ blind as the bastard was to a mage right in front of him. Beaten someone down, scars littered her body telling a tale of horrors. Locked away to use as a test subject. The girl carrying his own child. The man who had been cruel even to other Templars for even the suspicion of helping mages.

“Anders, or even Tara, will kill him themselves.”

“And become wanted for doing so, or worse.” The logic angered him, and he knew Feynriel was right, that Surana was right. Yet the Templar, who abused his power to make anyone under him – even other Templars – cower, should have to face the consequences. Instead he had been promoted.

Fenris turned, growling in anger he punched the wall.

“Why did you say she was in love with him?”

“They knew each other in Ferelden. Before the blight.”

“I will speak to her.”

“Thank you.”

***

Io hissed, dropping the sword onto the ground. The dalish she had been training with looked on disdainfully.

“You are a mage; you aren’t suited to a sword. Why you insist on this is ridiculous.” Io muttered obscenities, and the hunter rolled her eyes.

“If I cannot defend myself, should I encounter any Templars, what would you suggest I do?” She snapped.

“Avoid the Templars.”

“Right. Of course, so obvious, why did I not think of that?” She remarked sarcastically, standing straighter. The tunic stretched uncomfortably over her stomach.

“Your contemptuousness does you no credit.” The hunter sheathed their weapon and turned away. Io childishly stuck out her tongue, before uneasily lowering herself to the ground pulling out the scroll Anders had given her.

She was having difficulty mastering what the scroll described, and she wished there was more information on it.

“Surana.” Io turned, hand planted on the ground, to face the gravelly voice that called to her. She frowned when she saw the acerbic elf stalking towards her, Fenris. He sure seemed to spend a lot of time scowling, she wondered if that old childhood warning rang true, and his face was simply stuck like that.

“If you’ve come to yell at me, I should warn you I’ve had rather enough of it for one day.” She struggled to stand to her feet, a little off balanced from all the extra weight. She was surprised when he helped her, hand gripping her arm not ungently.

“Why will you not tell anyone who did this to you?” He pulled up the sleeve of her tunic, and Io had to look away at the ugly scars on her wrists, caused by continuous restraint. It would make her think of all the other scars left on her body, deformed flesh still healing in many places.

“Because. I have my reasons.”

“Do those have anything to do with making up, in some way, for what demons did to the Knight-Captain in Ferelden.” He kept his grip on her arm when she tried to wrench away.

“He told you!” She panicked; Karl’s face as he lunged towards Cullen, when they branded him, flashing through her mind. “Oh, Mythal, please. Please. Stop.” She choked when the taller elf wrapped his arm around her, hand cupping the back of her neck.

“What happened to you was wrong. You have no blame in what he did.” Io trembled, weakly pressing against his chest. She was surprised when he pulled away, unresisting to her pushing. “I have been proven wrong, in my belief that only mages can be corrupted by demons. Anyone can be, even Templars. What happened to him, it was not your fault. Nor does it excuse in any way what he did to you. Or to your friend.” He ran a thumb over her wrist, and Io felt tears fall from her eyes.

“I tried to fight him. Creators, I tried. It never made a difference.”

“Power can corrupt anyone.” It was hard, admitting his beliefs were not right. Anyone exposed to Demons, or to power, could be tempted. Mages were just the only ones capable of bringing them beyond the fade.

“Please, please don’t tell Anders. I know him. It would break his heart; he would kill Cullen. Anders is all I have left, please. Swear to me you won’t tell him?” Fenris nodded. He had already decided, much as she had; it would do no one any good. He was untouchable, for now.

“Only if you swear to stop worrying the brat. I don’t appreciate him pounding on my door to yell at me. Hawke would have my entrails if I accidentally murdered the boy over a hangover.” He coughed when suddenly he had an armful of messy curly hair, her freckled face buried in his shoulder.

So; this is what Anders had indebted himself to the coterie over.

“I have a favor.”

“If you let me go I’ll think of it.” She pulled back, sticking her tongue out at him.

“How good are you with that sword of yours?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyoooo. Sorry about yesterday. Our house was suddenly very full, so I found no time to slip away and post. But look, a cute an somewhat heart warming chapter! See, it isn't all dark and gloomy.   
> I know some may consider my characterization of Fenris to be OOC, but tough. I think Cullen was ooc in DAI, and others... But ultimately this is my story, and this is how I view these characters would behave and think.   
> Well, I hope you all enjoy this chapter, and as always please let me know if you do (or don't)!


	29. 26th Day of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin made a promise. She promised to live, promised to keep her children safe. She would bring about a world where her children and others never had to face the same horrors as her, as promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief warning for explicit content in this chapter; this time it is loving and consensual, though.

26th Day of Justinian, 9:32 DRAGON

Over the next week, he met her for a few hours each day, to try and help her learn out to fight with a sword. It was pitiful really.

“I think your problem is that you aren’t even used to the weight of your belly, let alone adding on a sword. Have you tried smaller weapons?” He commented, as he stood over where she had collapsed on the dried grass.

“None of the hunters will train with me anymore, after I singed one’s clothing when I got frustrated. And you fight with a two handed. It’s not like you could teach me how.”

That was how she ended up joining him in the hanged man, playing cards with the band of misfits.

“If you win, I’ll agree to teach you some sword play.” Isabela teased, and Io glared at Fenris.

The game was for clothes, because Io had no money to bet with. Io was down to her tunic and underwear. Fenris to his breeches. Merrill sat unabashedly naked, officially out. Aveline had left after her second lose, refusing the embarrassment.

“Fine.” She pouted, pulling her cards.

“If I win, you must give me all your clothes, and confess your most embarrassing secret.” Io shot Fenris another glare, which he pointedly ignored, sitting this round out.

Of course, as with the rest night, Io lost. She crossed her arms and glowered at the cards.

“Fenris, turn around.” She demanded, standing to do the dirty deed. She yanked off her tunic, but before she got to the underwear Isabela gasped, as did Merrill. Io paused, then blushed heatedly as she remembered what they would be looking at.

A large jagged scar ran from her right hip to the underside of her left breast and around to her back. The growth of her belly made the scar that much more hideous. She tried to pull her shirt back on before they noticed any of the others, humiliation bleeding through her. But the soft touch on her back made her let out a gasping sob, as Fenris traced the gashes of whip marks and more across her back.

“Those monsters.” It was Isabela, who had stood and bumped the table. Merrill looked ready to cry. Fenris’s hand on her back froze, and she stared at him pleadingly over her shoulder.

 He knew who had done this, and at the moment it was extremely difficult to keep to his word and not murder the bastard himself.

Her back was severely deformed from all the scarring, and he noticed some that were from more than a whip: a knife and hot irons.

The three of them surged forward, wrapping their arms around her, when she murmured a broken apology.

“You have no reason to be sorry love. I’m sorry, for the awful things you’ve been put through.” Isabela ran her hand over Io’s curls, Merrill whispered soothing words in Elven, and Io could feel Fenris wrap an arm around her abdomen.

She had to fight back tears, warmth spreading through her. Her chest tightened, and her shoulders shook.

She felt the presence at the back of her mind settle, and with a start she remembered the spirit. She wondered if it had anything to do with the odd affection the three of them were showing her, and had to fight the panic to run. She did not want to be the subject of false caring, trickery of a spirit.

She whimpered slightly, and Merrill began rubbing circles into the scar on her abdomen, comforting her.

“You know, it’s kind of awkward, all this hugging with us all pretty much naked.” She joked, voice strained. There were chuckles, though no one pulled away yet. “You don’t need to do this, really. You don’t even know anything about me.”

“Untrue! Anders talked about you all the time. Is it true you once ate a whole cake by yourself?” Merrill inquired, large green eyes staring up at her. Io flushed, ears burning at the mention of that memory.

“Didn’t you also once knock over all the bookshelves in one of the libraries because you climbed one instead of using a ladder?” Fenris’ gravelly voice rumbled along her shoulder, playing along to Merrills distraction, and Io groaned at that memory.

“Oooh, tell us about the time you’d stolen all the sour candies from your first Enchanter’s room, and lied straight to his face with a mouth full of them.” Her full lips pouted, and she was about to deny the last one; her mouth hadn’t been _full_ per se…

Then the three of the gasped, pulling back slightly, to stare in wonder at her belly. Io jumped, seeing motion beneath the skin there. An uncomfortable feeling, like gas, pushed through her stomach. She stared in awe. That’s what that feeling was?

“I thought Feynriel was feeding me funny mushrooms.” She muttered, and the rag tag group broke out in chuckles and giggles.

“Can I feel?” Merrill asked, eager, but she held her hand just away from the moving stomach. Io smiled fondly, and nodded. Isabela placed her hand next to Merrill’s, each grinning widely when the little form pressed against their hands. Io grabbed Fenris’ hand and placed it with theirs. As she stared at all four of their hands crowding her protruding stomach, something clicked into place in her heart.

She felt as if she belonged, and so wholly at peace. In that moment, she swore she would do anything to protect these people, and the little life growing within her.

“Do you think it has extra limbs?” Merrill frowned, and the others focused on the different lumps moving about. Io stared horrified.

“I certainly hope not.” She exclaimed, worry mingling in with the warmth in her heart. Isabela chuckled.

“Anders didn’t tell you? I feel so giddy!” The woman gave them a cat like grin, her golden-brown eyes glittering. “Twins!”

That certainly explained why she was so large already.

“Twins?” They pulled their hands away, allowing Iolarin the chance to run her hands over her stomach. Her hands contrasted; where her arms and hands had gotten plenty of sun recently and darkened, her belly was still a pale tan color. She wondered what her children would look like. She prayed they held only her looks.

“That’s why you’re round as a melon then.” Fenris teased, and Io stuck her tongue out at him. She didn’t see the two women shooting each other a surprised look.

“I would be worried if I were thin as you, pregnant as I am.” She shot back, and grunted when he tossed her tunic at her face. They all took that as excuse to put all their clothes back on.

Io shot Isabela a suspicious look. “If you all already know so much about me; what use is there in me telling you anything embarrassing? There likely isn’t anything I could say you don’t know.”

“Well, maybe you had some embarrassing childhood stories, or ones Anders didn’t know. I wanted to hold it over his head.” Io rolled her eyes, brushing her hair from them annoyed. She really needed to do something about it.

“It seems he knows ones from when I was a child. Bookshelves? I was still small. Amazing I managed such a mess; I couldn’t have weighed more than even a shelf of books. I was someone that people loved to gossip about in the circle, though. And besides, it wasn’t somewhere you had many secrets.” She shrugged.

“There must be something, surely?” Isabela wiggled her brows, and Io couldn’t help the burst of laughter that escaped her.

“I wasn’t popular, with boys or girls, Isabela. I was too bookish. Spouting off random facts when I was nervous appeared to be rather a turn off, it seems.” But her cheeks flushed, and she remembered the one person who hadn’t seemed to mind.

Merrill leaned in, expression open. “Oh, you’re blushing. What is it?” She tried her best to imitate Isabela’s brow wiggle, though she obviously wasn’t practiced at it. Io blushed deeper, face scarlet, and ears tingling. Bela leaned in as well, devious smile on her face.

“It’s only technically something no one else knows. I’m sure he doesn’t even remember it, but it’s not that interesting.” She tried to brush it aside, moving to pick up her boots. The two women were relentless though.

“Oh, now you have to tell us! Some late night, drunken dalliance then?” Io had to clear her throat at that, the guess right on the mark.

“Truly? Oh, tell us?” Io went to give Merrill an imploring look, only to catch Fenris’s curious gaze. Oh, bugger it all. None of them would let her be.

“Kinloch, while no paradise, was a bit more… lax than the gallows. We were allowed to celebrate some of the festivals, within Circle grounds. Lots of drinking, food, and dancing. The apprentices weren’t allowed alcohol, not that it stopped us…” She cleared her throat, and leaned against the wall. The three of them sat down, attention focused on her. It made her feel awkward.

“Well, of course, umm… We got ragingly sloshed. One of my ‘many’ talents; I can hold my liquor better than any of my peers. Within my limited experience with alcohol. And I’ve never had a hangover.” Isabela and Fenris gave her brief envious glowers, and she grinned at them.

“Well, when we were all being herded to bed, someone I rather liked and I snuck off to one of my favorite hiding places.” She shrugged, looking away and trying to leave it at that.

“That’s it then? Just went off and what, had long talks about your favorite books into the night? Who was this person? We demand details!” Isabela crowed, and the other two nodded. Io had to hide her face in her hands, and she walked over to the sit at the table. She stared at them beseechingly, but they did not relent. She sighed, defeated.

“You may joke, but we did start talking about books. Well, I talked, and they listened. Then, well…” She took a deep breath, and pictured that night.

*******

Io smiled, wavering on her feet slightly. The man with her caught her, though unsteady on his own feet.

“This one is my favorite. I think it belonged to one of the Senior enchanters; it’s a memoir depicting an illicit romance between some chantry sisters. Very naughty. Been here ages.” She giggled, and he smiled at her, thumbing through the book she handed him curiously.

They heard the sound of a door opening, and footsteps. Io quickly pushed the older boy behind the shelves, and led him to the little alcove by the stairs. It was the perfect hiding spot. No one had ever found her there.

She had him pressed up against the wall, hand over both their mouths. As the footsteps receded and the lights extinguished, Io looked up into the yellow eyes, and he looked down into her glowing ones. She slowly removed her hand.

“You know, were I to encounter you in a dimly lit hallway, you might give me a heart attack.” He teased, and she could smell the fruity wine on his breath. She pouted slightly, glaring at him. He hummed, cupping her face. She could see his eyes lower to her lips, and her breathing hitched.

She breathed his name, and her eyes fluttered close. His breath ghosted her lips, then his lips followed. It was clumsy, and tasted bitter. Yet it was also the most wonderful experience of her life.

They kissed a long while, adjusting and improving. He cupped the back of her neck, and his other arm wrapped around her waist. She had the absurd thought that his neck must hurt, being bent over like that. She strained on her tippy toes, still quite shorter than him. He chuckled into the kiss and she pulled away.

“Maker, you’re adorable.” He whispered, and she was about to deny it when he turned them, pressing her against the wall. Then he bent to scoop her legs around his waist.

Io suppressed a yelp, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

“If I push too far, stop me.” He urged her, and she nodded. Then remembered he probably could barely see her.

“I will. Promise.” He returned to kissing her, and she whimpered softly, enjoying the way he played with her lip, traced her exposed hip. Then he rubbed up against her, and her eyes rolled back, and she nearly knocked her head into the wall.

His erection pressed intimately through his robes and her underwear, brushing something sensitive on her.

He grinned wickedly at her, and rolled his hips again.

They continued their rutting and kissing, Io having to bite down on her hand or lip whenever he pressed against her just right.

Then he set her down, and lowered her. He rested on his arms above her, and she could see the nervousness on his face.

“I’ve never been with a girl before. I don’t want to hurt you. We can stop, if you want?” His voice cracked slightly, and she reached her arms above her.

“I’ve never been with anyone. But I trust you. We can go slow, learn together.”

He took his time, and explored her. They learned her breast weren’t overly sensitive, unless he toyed with her nipple using his teeth. When he kissed her ribs, or hips, she sighed happily. Then his mouth explored her most intimate place, and learned what made her buck her hips, or moan loudly into her hand, barely concealing the noises. They both learned how she orgasmed.

She learned how she tasted on his lips, how to stroke him just right. His ribs were ticklish, but he liked pressure on his hips.

When he slipped inside her, she was relaxed, open to him. There was no tearing, and she was warm and wet. She orgasmed again, rocking frantically against him, her hands spasming against his arse. Her womanhood contracted around him, and he pressed deep inside her, finishing with a groan and kisses against her sensitive ears.

He laid next to her, stroking her face. She laid her head against his chest, listening as his heart slowed. She let him lay there a moment, before they stood and dressed, nervous over being caught. They kissed once more, languidly, before parting to their respective sleeping areas.

She watched him ascend the stairs, heart pounding wildly.

The next morning, he greeted her with a groan at the table, as she dropped her books on it.

“Io, must you do that? Anyone want to turn down the sun? It’s so offensive today. Ugh, how much did I drink last night?” When he stared blearily up at her, her heart felt like it was being squeezed.

“I don’t remember. Don’t you?” She asked, raising her brow. If he wouldn’t admit to last night, then neither would she. Even if it was the most magical night she had ever had. And that was saying something, for a mage.

“Not a thing, after challenging you and Jowan to see who could drink the most of Nialls special ‘fruit juice’. Maker, what did he put into that stuff?” He groaned again, and dropped his head to the table.

“Well, you’re not as bad as Jowan; he wouldn’t even get out of bed this morning. Been throwing up all night.”

He peeked up at her, grinning. “Then there’s you; chipper as the damned sun. Larin, did you drink anything last night?”

“I drank more than both of you. I won, remember? I can hold my liquor better than either of you weak men.” She grinned, and he rolled his eyes.

“Look at you; bet you could recite every book in the library, from memory right now. I can barely remember my own name.” She nudged him, burying her disappointment. So; he didn’t remember last night. Well, she would cherish it always, nevertheless.

“Let me help you; you refused to tell anyone upon arrival your name, so the whole circle took to calling you something else. Now it’s all you go by.”

“Nope, still nothing.”

“Oh, Anders. You’re ridiculous.”

 

*******

 

Io finished, trailing off, looking at her lap. She felt a little foolish. The room was dead silent, beyond the sound of her own heartbeat.

“Anders?” she snapped her head up, Fenris’s pale green eyes wide and gazing at her. She gave him a sad smile.

“Oh yes. I had the biggest crush on him, for so long. It happened a few months after Karl left. So, probably just his wanting comfort or some such. If he does remember, he’s never mentioned it. And I’ve always been too embarrassed. It meant so much to me, and obviously, nothing to him. I was always more of a younger sister to him, I suppose.” She shrugged, and had to look away. Sometimes it still stung. “So, there’s my biggest secret. Not something you could really hold over him. Though now I imagine I’ve given you all something to hold over me. I’d appreciate if you didn’t mention this little… Well, emotional story. Might make me seem sappy.”

Isabela clapped her hands together, standing abruptly to break the tension. “So, why did you want to learn dueling? I hear you’re rather formidable with your magic as is.” Io shot Fenris a glare, and he just looked at her innocently.

“Well, for one, I am not always able to cast spells, especially in close quarters when I’m not the only one at risk. Another…” She paused, sighing and looked up at the ceiling. “Magic doesn’t exactly protect me from Templars, does it?” She rolled her shoulders, and looked about the room. It seemed to dawn on them, her situation.

“Well. That is a mighty good reason isn’t it? You do look like you’d be rather defensless.” Io smiled sadly at the pirate, walking over to Fenris, a thought coming to her.

“Can I use you for a moment?” She didn’t wait for a response, bending down with her knees, and then standing straight back up, holding him in the chair above her head. She grinned at their gob smacked faces. “Anders passed along some specialization, ancient elven magic, and while I’m still pants at using weapons, I have learned to do this.” She set Fenris back down, and he glared at her reproachfully.

“I don’t appreciate being used as a prop.” He muttered, and the other women broke into laughter.

“Andraste’s ass, but that was nearly erotic. I’d like to see you arm-wrestle Hawke.” Isabela crooned, grinning deviously. Io just rolled her eyes.

“Channeling magic into strength, I might wear out faster than they would. Right now, I can do quick bursts. I’m training to hold it longer.” Bela walked forward, clasping her shoulder.

“Alright, I’ll teach you. Tomorrow, though. We should return you to the Dalish before they panic that you’ve run off. I will meet you in the camp tomorrow.” Fenris stood, striding to hold the door open.

“I’ll escort you back.” Io rolled her eyes, grabbing her cloak and pulling it on. She was no longer allowed to travel on her own, Feynriel or Fenris escorting her to and from the city.

“I’m not a child, you know.”

“No, a child I might trust to stay out of trouble. For some reason, I get the suspicion if left on your own you’d just get into some awful situation.” Io pouted, turning up her nose.

“No idea what you’re talking about, I never run into trouble.” She pulled up her hood, entering the main bar area. The sounds of the drunk and jeering, the smell that was unique to this bar, hit her like a wave. She grunted when Fenris suddenly shoved her behind him. Peering over his shoulder, she noted why.

A group of Templars sat at a table, trading gossip and drinking heartily, obviously off duty. Her stomach churned, and she reached out to grip the other elf’s arm.

“Keep your hood up.” She tugged it closer about her face, sticking close to his side. Merrill and Isabela flanked her side, helping to block her from sight as they made their way through the bar.

She breathed a shaky sigh as soon as they made it outside, leaning her head against Fenris’ arm.

“Maybe I should get some ugly tattoo, to hide my face.” She half joked. Fenris patted her hand.

“You’d fit right in, with us elves.” He joined, motioning to his and Merrills face.

“You could always ask the keeper about a Vallaslin. Though, she may make you earn it, as with anyone in the clan.” Merrill suggested, eyeing her.

“I’m sure it would make my family proud. I hardly count as Dalish though. I can’t even remember my clan, or my mother’s face for that matter.”

“Ah, the motherless club has found a new member.” Bela joked, before looping her arm through Merrills. “Let’s walk our respective mages home, shall we Fenris?” Merrill smiled at the other woman, waving to the two of them as they walked off.

Io kept hold of Fenris’ arm until they made it out of the city, only relaxing once free of its walls.

“Maybe it’s the dalish in me, or living so long cooped up, but I hate the feeling of being trapped and surrounded by walls.” She commented, lowering her hood. Fenris shrugged.

“Cities are easier to get lost in.”

“Or easier to be spotted. You don’t exactly blend in, you know.” She teased, poking at one of the white markings on his arm. He rolled his eyes at her, gently pushing her to keep walking.

“If I could be free of these markings, I would.” Io glanced at him before turning her eyes back to the trail.

“I dunno, I think they make you look rather intimidating, striking even. They must make a great conversation piece.” She joked. “They add to that whole brooding look you have going on.”

“Brooding?” He mocked, looking aghast.

“Oh, don’t even play. You are the very definition of brooding. Too bad, too. You look better when you smile.” She missed the slight flush that colored his cheeks. “Hey, Fenris?” He hummed, looking over at her. She stared into the distance, far off look in her eyes. “Do you ever get over the things that happen to you? Or do you always carry the scars?” Her hand absently traced the wound on her belly, and the image of all the ones she carried on her back flashed in his mind.

“I’ll let you know.” He admitted, looking up to the twinkling sky. He still had nightmares, sometimes, that he was back under the horrors of Denarius.

“Ah.” They continued the rest of the way in silence. When they neared the edge of the camp, they stopped. “I’ve decided on something: for my children, I will live and fight to make the world a better place, one they don’t have to struggle to survive in. I will make sure they never have to face anything like we have.” She gave him a fierce look, and despite himself he really believed she could do it.

“Well, one step at a time. For now, just live to bring them into this world.” She nodded, then wrapped her arms around him briefly, in a fierce hug.

“Thank you.” She pulled away quickly, and hurried the rest of the way into the camp. He shook his head, watching her go. Something about her, you couldn’t help but like her. Maybe it was her determination to go on, despite it all. Maybe it was how she looked you in the eye, and told you exactly what was on her mind.

She was a lot like Tara, in that way. Caring, bullheaded, and unbreakable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some lightheartedness! ;)   
> And yes, I do make use of many painful and awful romantic troupes ;D best get used to it, because that only gets worse.  
> I have loved this story so much, and it brings be joy rereading it as I post it for you all here. I hope you all love it as much as I have.


	30. 10th Day of Solace, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin trained. She trained until her hands blistered, trained until every muscle screamed at her. She trained so that she would never be at anyone's mercy ever again.

10th Day of Solace, 9:32 DRAGON

The next two weeks were arduous, even in the darkening days of dwindling Summer, and she was proving to be no better with two swords than she had with one.

She grunted, plopping on the ground after a thorough arse kicking, sore all over, and bruised to boot. She stared petulantly into the distance.

“I have never known anyone to have this much difficulty learning to wield daggers.” Isabela was still teasing, light hearted. It irked Io more, who threw a clod of dirt and dried grass at her.

“So much for being a gifted learner. ‘Oh Iolarin, you can learn anything. Oh Surana, you’re such a quick learner! Oh Io, there’s nothing you can’t do!’ bloody lying sods.” She ranted, digging her heels into the ground. Merrill smiled, kneeling next to her, holding out some fruit. Io bit into an apple savagely.

“Learning from books is one thing, practical learning is another.” That was Aveline, who had come to watch the spectacle. Io’s glower worsened.

“Oh I’ll show you practical. Stand still and let me throw a fireball at you. I can learn any bloody spell, but basic damned footwork? Argh!” She stood, albeit a bit laboriously.

“So, what’s so different about being shown how to do something, rather than actually reading it? Shouldn’t it be reversed?” Feynriel chipped in, staring wide eyed at her.

“I don’t know. Books will detail every aspect of a thing; how does it work, what makes it work, how you cast it. I could tell you all about how and why ice forms, and show you.”

“Maybe that’s your problem. You don’t know the workings behind how thrust works, or behind a daggers balance.” Fenris chimed in, and they all blinked at him. “Maybe if you knew, say, the balance of the dagger you’re working with, and how different balances can affect battle, you might get better at handling one.”

Aveline nodded. “I could take you to see the smith we commission for our arms and armor in the guard. They would be the best to explain it. And it shouldn’t be too difficult to find a book detailing all the boring details behind footwork.” She offered, and Io pondered it for a moment.

“That might work. It’s worth a try at least. A smith is better than the dalish crafter who wouldn’t be willing to explain anything to me. I do believe he dislikes me.” She shrugged, and Merrill giggled.

“He’s that way with everyone. Mostly the mages though. Seems to think the presence of magic can ruin even the greatest craftsmanship.” The other elf supplied, laughter in her voice.

“Well, shall we head into the city? No time like the present.” Isabela nudged Aveline, shaking her head fondly.

“Let the poor girl take a breather first. She is pregnant.” Aveline flushed, and looked away at Bela’s words.

“Oh, bugger that. I’m fine. Let’s do it.”

“Isabela and I can go looking for some books. I bet I can tell her which ones look the most confusing for you!” Merrill quipped, chipper as ever.

“Can I come?” Feynriel asked, and Io gave him a sympathetic smile. He was fitting in no better than she.

“You can come with us love. Let’s leave the brooding bunch to take Larin to the smith for some boring lesson in how a sword is crafted.” Bela looped her arm through his, smirking at the others who glared at her.

“I told you, you were brooding.” Io shot at Fenris who looked away from her in annoyance.

“Whatever. Let’s get this over with.” So they headed into the city, Feynriel and Io pulling up their hoods just outside the gates. Not enough time had passed for either to feel comfortable wandering without it; Io had petitioned Marethari for Vallaslin, and it was still being decided on.

They parted ways, Isabela leading the two mages to hunt down some books, while Io followed Fenris and Aveline up to hightown. Once they were within the smith’s shop, Io felt safe enough to pull down her hood. She joined Fenris in inspecting some swords on display.

“When do you think the expedition will return?” She asked, keeping her voice as neutral as possible.

“It’s hard to know. They may only have just reached the path into the deep roads. It could be a few more months, depending how deep they go. But Anders was a warden, so hopefully they won’t run into any trouble.” She didn’t miss the subtle look he gave her when he spoke Anders name. That’s what she got for her heartfelt confession.

They teased her about it on occasion, prodding her asking if she still had a crush on the blond mage. She had avoided answering thus far.

She didn’t know; it had been two and a half years since she had seen him last. In that time, she had developed feelings for someone else, though now the only feelings she had for that man was contempt. But then, thoughts of Anders had kept her going through the worst of what the Templar had done. It was all too confusing.

“Won’t we get any word from them?”

“Maybe. The purpose of them going on this trip was for some time away from Templars, and of course getting rich. Getting in contact with them is meant to be difficult.” He motioned with his head for them to move on when Aveline called for them in the back room.

“This is Roddin; the guard’s personal smith. He’s agreed to teach you what he can about blades.” She said, pale white freckled cheeks red from the heat of the nearby forge. The man nodded to her, and Io thought briefly that he was very young to be a smith.

Roddin had a full head of mousy brown hair, brown eyes, and tawny colored skin. He didn’t look much older than her. Her eyes narrowed in on his pointed ears, and she was more shocked.

He smiled at her surprised look. “So, let me guess; you’re either surprised I’m an elf, or so young?” He joked, setting down the hammer he had been carrying. “Everyone usually is.”

Io blushed, but shrugged at him. “Smiths are either old dwarf men, or old human men. Though my experience is somewhat limited.”

“The smithy was my mother’s, so there’s another shock for you. Mine, now that she’s gone. I will proudly boast that our steel is better than any of the merchants in town, though I ask you not to say that to their face. I get enough threats from the carta having taken all the guard business.” He wiped his hands on his apron and strode over to a nearby rack.

“Shall we get started then?” Fenris and Aveline waited in an adjacent room, while Roddin explained the parts of the dagger he pulled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, Jale Roddin; another OC. I love him, and I hope you all will to as the story evolves. He becomes a regular.  
> Iolarins learning ability is something I have based off myself, and two of my younger brothers. They are both autistic, and have always found it easier to learn from a book than people. I have difficult absorbing speech and remember info unless its in text/picture format. And videos that are constantly paused and rewound, but you can't do that to people.   
> Well, I hope you all enjoy this chapter! Please let me know your thoughts!


	31. 20th Day of Solace, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin worked. She worked tirelessly, worked until exhaustion where nightmares kept away. She worked to build herself into a weapon.

20th Day of Solace, 9:32 DRAGON

Over the next week and a half, she met with Roddin whenever he was free, and on the twelfth day, sitting by the forge, she recited some points he had discussed.

“This here,” She pointed to a spot on the dagger. “Is the center of balance. On either side of it, the weight is the same. Here,” She pointed to another spot higher up on the blade. “is the center of percussion. If I wanted to chop someone’s arm off, this would be the ideal place for contact with the limb. This is the quillion,” she pointed at one end of the guard. “But the whole thing is the cross guard. It can be called different things depending on the type of blade. Some daggers just have a bolster.

“The fuller is the center that runs along the blade, indented. Some swords have shorter fullers, and longer ridges. Some blades have different edges, and so are used for different fighting styles. You want broad for hacking men in half, thinner dueling blades for pricking men repeatedly. I think I’d want something more in between, good for hacking off a limb, yet also thrusting into people.” Roddin let out a sudden laugh, eyes twinkling in the fire light.

“That’s a colorful description. But well done.” He turned to grab something from a shelf, and Io inspected all the daggers and swords laid out for her, lifting one every now and then to see if she could balance them. She had gotten very good, once learning where the center of balance really was.

Roddin had also shown her better ways to grip swords, based on her weight. Her center of gravity was slightly off, due to her being pregnant, which meant she needed to stand and hold weapons differently.

She was shifting her feet and getting into a fighting stance, one of the long swords in her outstretched arm, when Fenris and Isabella walked in.

“Oh, Red, you must come see this.” Bela called into the room behind her, and Io stood straight quickly, setting the sword aside, clearing her throat awkwardly.

“Weeks of trying to teach you form; a few days with a smith and you’re all poised and graceful.” The pirate teased, smirking at her.

“I wouldn’t call anything about that graceful. I was just standing there.” She dismissed, a grimace briefly passing her face. Karl had teased her often at how ungraceful she was, tripping over her own feet. What if he could see her now?

“Maybe not, but it was a difference from what you could do before. What did he do so differently?” Fenris had a scowl on his face, and he glanced over to where Roddin was shifting around in a cupboard.

“I’d say it more what you lot didn’t do. Lousy teachers, really. She’s smaller, and pregnant. She would have to fight differently, and stand differently. You try having extra weight added to your front and see how well you fight in your normal style.” Roddin shot, pulling something out wrapped in burlap. “All the weapons you gave her were shoddy too.”

“You think anything not made by you is shoddy.” Io teased, and he rolled his eyes.

“Take this.” He kind of shoved it in her hands, and Io blinked for a moment. He stood there awkwardly, then turned to put the weapons away he had set out to test her on.

Io unfolded the cloth, and stared in wonder at the sword in her hands. It was shorter than the usual long sword, yet longer than most daggers. It had a double-edged blade; pummel was slightly pointed, with a piece of sharp obsidian at the base. She wrapped her fingers around the grip, and it fit her hand well. Taking away the cloth, she marveled at how light it felt, the intricacy of the scroll work on the cross-guard, inlaid with impact and spirit runes.

Her eyes glistened with tears as she glanced up at the dark-skinned elf, who has holding what must be the sheath. It bore the same beautiful scroll work as the hilt, black as night.

“You always make such beautiful weapons. The noble men think your work wasted on simple guard supplies.” Aveline commented, breaking the intensity of the moment.

“I like to make things that will actually be used, instead of put on display. It feels like such a worse waste of my abilities to see them set aside to gather rust and dust. I’d rather they’re used to decide a fight.” He shrugged, and Io took the sheath from him, sliding the blade into it. Everyone ignored the way her hands shook.

“Thank you.” She murmured, and had to look away. This was the second gift she had ever been given, and by far the person who gifted this was kinder and held no ulterior motive; this gift was meant to protect her, her safety the only thing in mind.

“Now let’s see if we can teach her to use the bloody thing.” Isabella laughed, drawing attention away from the blushing elves.

“Is it alright if I come along? I wonder if she should use two blades, and I would want to watch her form, to judge what kind would work best.” Roddin asked, blinking his big eyes at them, a giddiness written on his face.

“You really do love your job. Well, the more the merrier.” Bela smiled, patting him on the back.

“You should meet my sister. Mother was so proud; I took over the smithy, Caltrina took over showing people how to use the weapons. I hear she is merciless.”

“She’s in Orlais, isn’t she? Weapons trainer for the court. Yet you make weapons for the guard.” Aveline shook her head. “Your talents are wasted on us, but I am grateful for your work.”

“She loves the flair of the court, of the game, intrigue is her realm. I prefer to keep the men and women who protect our city alive. One is no better than the other.” He frowned at her, and Io walked past him, patting his arm.

“I’m just thankful you don’t supply the Templars.” She half joked, and Fenris helped her attach the sword to her belt.

“Well, even if I wanted – which I really don’t – Meredith thinks very ill of people like me.” Io scowled at the wall.

“She and her ilk hate anyone they think are different.”

“Don’t let the cunt tell you you’re any less of a man then the cowards she employs.” Bela shot, grimacing slightly.

“Well, by their standards, I am missing a few pieces to be a ‘real man’.”

“Well, we all know they’re missing a few screws, so fuck them.”

Roddin laughed, shaking his head.

“You really are an interesting bunch.” Io grinned at him, and held out her arm. He teasingly looped his arm through it.

“Well, let’s go; I can’t wait for everyone to watch me eat dirt. You will be my only supporter Jale. The others doubt my finesse.” She stuck her tongue out at her friends, and they all made their way from the shop, Jale locking it all securely behind them. Io kept her hood up until they left the city.

They quipped back and forth, easy camaraderie among the group. There was the usual teasing Io over her poor swordsmanship. Asking Fenris how the corpses were smelling that day. And how was it being a city lackey Aveline? Haven’t drowned in a tankard yet Bela?

When the group reached their usual clearing, Io shucked off her cloak, soaking up the autumn sun, goosebumps crawling up her arms from the breeze.

“I’ll never be used to this; you know? Fresh air, sunlight. It’s so wonderful.” She spun in a slight circle, arms outstretched. She missed the sad looks that passed her companions faces.

They got started, with Jale murmuring advice to Io on her stance, and how she held the weapon.

“I wish you could meet Caltrina. She would be a much better teacher.” He commented, rolling his eyes at the others mutterings. “Teaching is what she does best; you are all fine fighting, but teaching is not a strong skill for you. You also need to keep in mind; Iolarin is a mage. They might fight differently. You need to work to your skills.”

So, the rest of the afternoon was spent with Jale criticizing anything they tried to show her, and their aggravation at his constant comments. Dawn was fast approaching, and Io was sick of it.

“That’s enough, the lot of you! I can’t learn anything with all this bickering!” She shouted, freezing them all in place. Her chest heaved, her cheeks rouge from the effort and distress. “I can’t take this anymore. None of you are helping.” She sheathed her sword, scooped up her cloak, and stormed away. They looked at each other in contrition.

Io fought back tears of frustration, yanking her cloak over her shoulders as she went. She was battered, sore, and easily upset. Being pregnant was a nightmare. Her ankles were swollen, her back hurt, her breasts were always tender if they weren’t leaking. Labor couldn’t come soon enough.

She stopped after a few minutes of walking and leaned against an outcropping. She recalled some of her recent reading, on sword combat and other martial training. Jale had said something about being a mage making the rules different.

She was lost in thought for a time, mind analyzing the details, fitting pieces into place. When she felt that she had a clear mental picture, she stood straight. It felt like a hand was guiding her, as she slid the sword from its sheath. She shifted her feet apart, centering herself.

She went through the motions, and the longer she moved, the more at peace she became. The sword was like an extension of herself, and her will balanced her, as if this was something she could always do. She felt her magic at her core, and reached for it, letting it curl through her limbs, imbuing her with strength, seeping into the blade in her hands.

She had a thought, wondered if she could do it, then did. A bolt of lightning shot from the tip of the blade, as it would through a staff. It exploded into a nearby rock, shattering it. She smiled to herself, then spun, thrusting out the sword at an imagined enemy.

She did not know how long she was there, the sun setting around her. She felt as if she could go even longer, not fatigued in the least. She practiced the movements, letting her magic empower her, strengthening her.

She spun into the air, slicing through it with her sword and with a kick. Applause froze her from doing more as she landed.

Her friends stood some yards away, watching her intently, with curious and amused smiles on their faces.

“That was certainly better than anything we have been teaching you. Where did you learn all that?”

“I… don’t really know, actually. It just felt right.” They approached each other and gave apologetic looks.

“Sorry we’ve been so hard on you.”

“Sorry I yelled at you like children. I’m more emotional, it’s rather annoying.” Bela wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

“Well, we were behaving a bit like children, and being unfair to you.” She grinned, squeezing once. “But that was a beautiful show. You must show us in something better than moonlight, though.” Aveline and Jale nodded.

“Though, do try not to shoot us with lightening when you do.” Fenris shot, looking over at the holes and scorch marks from where she had been aiming her spells.

“I only ever hit where I mean to.” The others laughed, and she looked away slightly embarrassed. “Arrows are completely different. Once you let it loose, you have no control. I can still control the magic once I let it go.” She defended and slid her sword into the sheath at her belt.

“You were very poor at that. Remind us never to let you get hold of a bow. You’re as likely to shoot yourself as anyone else.” Bela teased, and Io shoved her away good naturedly.

“Not that you’re any better Bela.” Io stuck out her tongue and turned away crossing her arms in a mock pout.

“It is dark; I am sure Feynriel is worried. We should return you.” Fenris urged, still paranoid about her being out.

“One day I’ll prove to you I’m not a child who needs a bedtime.” The dark-skinned elf jested, wrapping an arm around him, glaring teasingly.

“Until then, you should be safely hidden amongst the Dalish. The Templars have been more active lately.” The warning was clear, and Io’s face fell, her pointed ears drooping slightly.

Aveline rolled her eyes, and nudged Io towards the direction of the camp. “And I thought I had horrible timing with things like that.” She muttered, and Bela playfully slapped his arm.

They escorted her to the camp, and bade farewell, making their way back to the city, hoping the gates hadn’t closed quite yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woot woot. I hope you all enjoyed these chapters! That'll be it for today, but I promise to add more tomorrow!  
> On a note; I still haven't finished part two, and this part is drawing closer to its end. So I wanted to warn you all that if I cannot finish the second part before I finish uploading this one, that there may be some delay between. Hopefully not TOO much, but I also really want to have part 3 started before I post part 2. But, some news! I have written small one shots that take place in the past, for Tara and Io, and will be posting those if the delay will be long, okay? Because I feel like everyone who has stuck around this last year deserves it.  
> That's it for tonight, enjoy!


	32. 19th – 20th Days of August, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was filled. Filled with warmth for her new friends, filled with determination for the future. In return for the love she receives, she is determined to fill the lives of those she loves with light and joy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Kunoichi and Bauster! Your comments gave me life.

19th – 20th Days of August, 9:32 DRAGON

The next month saw Io training vigorously, using combinations of styles and form that fit her best. Often times she even trained while asleep; the fade was the perfect place for training. She did not tire, and did not injure while in the fade. It was good for practice, and then she applied anything she had learned from curious spirits.

She worked with Roddin on another blade, and she agreed she might do better with two. This one curved and was only slightly longer than a dagger. They fitted it with runes and scroll work. Jale engraved a resemblance of two infants, at her request, into the pommel.

She would become better, and better able to protect her children from the life she had lived, or that of any of her friends.

Now she was facing off against a Dalish hunter, who had agreed on the terms she used no magic. It was grueling, and she was drenched in sweat by the end, yet she managed to get his weapon away from him.

Marathari called an end to the display, and Io knelt by her.

“All this, to prove you are worthy of something you know so little about?” The older elf asked, calm and poised as ever.

“Once it was something I had been destined to. I lost my clan, lost my way. Teach me, if you still don’t find me worthy.”

“Is this not merely a way to disguise yourself, meaningless?”

“If I simply wanted to mar my face from recognition, there was any number of people I could have gone to. I am Dalish, I wish to be part of the people I was ripped from. This is not meaningless to me. I am reclaiming what the shemlen stole from me.” She kept her voice even, staring straight into the Keeper’s eyes. She spoke true. This held great meaning to her; she could put her ghost to rest, proclaim herself as she was. Proudly Dalish.

“Very well. You know the rules. At any point during the ritual, I may decide if you are no longer worthy. Are you ready?”

The ritual lasted hours, and Io held perfectly still throughout, her training doing her favor. Yet the pain hardly bothered her, for she had felt worse. Afterwards, she lay in her cot, singing softly to her large belly. A dalish lullaby, the only thing she remembered of her mother.

Her face itched in the morning, but through an exercise of will power she kept from scratching it. It had to heal on its own; part of the trial.

The other Dalish treated her more warmly, seeing less of an outsider in her. Yet still some were cold, as they were to any not from the clan. Those were the ones who would likely never warm, unless she gave her life for the clan.

“Does it hurt?” Feynriel asked, gently touching her cheek. “It’s Mythals, right?”

“It itches a bit, but the pain was nothing. Mythal is the creator I devote my prayers to, it was only right it was hers I chose. Do not worry, Feyn. One day, you too will earn your own. Give it time.” She patted his knees, and they finished their flat bread and meat together.

“Are you going to the city today? Can I join you?” The others had tried keeping Feynriel from the city as often as they could, the city crawling with Templars.

“I don’t know Feyn. It isn’t safe for me, let alone you. I could not bear it if the Templars caught you.” He looked disappointed, and she cupped his cheek. “Besides, Marathari is training you today, isn’t she? It’s very important you control this.”

“Why can’t you train me? You have no problems with the demons.”

“I can’t, and you know why. I don’t know how I am different. I will talk to Marathari and see if she has any ideas. I’ll deliver your letters, as well, when I go to the city?” He sighed but nodded. Io gave him a tight lipped smiled and patted his shoulder. “You will get there. Just give it time.”

They spent a little more time together and Io practiced a few spells with him, doing her best to pass on what knowledge she felt had actually been of use in the tower. The sun was high in the sky, though it offered little warmth. Winter was on the horizon, and Io hoped the Dalish were ready. Last winter had been mild, with little snow; Kirkwall was a harbor town though, and storms were regular. She had heard that winters could be horrible.

Io paused in filling her pack, her mind wandering to the circle in the gallows. Even the mild winter had chilled her to the bones, locked away in a cell most of the time. In Kinloch, winters were nearly always mild yet even still fires constantly roared, keeping them all warm.

Her heart ached for her friends still locked away, suffering atrocities at the hands of their captors, and the winter to come. She shivered at the mere memory.

Shoving the melancholy away, for it would do no one any good, Io hiked up her pack and made her way to head into town. She had been asked to trade some things from the clan for other things they could not get and needed. It was nice to be trusted with that; though she knew the others trusted her simply because she was always there, and they disliked the city.

Io grimaced at the tight feeling across her belly, the tunic had seemed to be shrinking. She would need to find a way to get some better clothes.

Her trip to the city was uneventful, and she kept her blades visible over her cloak to warn away anyone who may try to take advantage of apparent weakness. The pack was heavy at her back, but a flow of magic and constant training made it easier to bear. It was a nice balance to the new weight on her front, anyhow.

She haggled her way through lowtown stalls, frustrated and stubborn against their haughty disdain of her. If she had a way to get coin, she could just buy the stupid supplies.

The sun was heavy on the horizon when she sighed in defeat, trudging to the hanged-man for a drink. She smiled when she saw her friends crowded around a table in the corner, drinking and playing cards.

“Larin! Come here. You look like you need a drink. Next round is on Fenris, telling by how bad his hands have been.” Bela called boisterously, a grin on her face and a rosy tint to her brown cheeks.

Fenris scowled over his shoulder at her, sour at his obvious losing streak.

“You know I can’t play with you. I need coin for this game.” She jested, dropping her pack in the corner and pulling up a seat between Fenris and Merril, whose face was colored red and lips spread in a grin. “How do any of you get money, anyhow? Aside from you, Aveline, though I don’t imagine even captain of the guard is very rewarding money wise? I could really use coin, as often as I am in the city.” She looked at the redhead, who set down her cards and gave her a small smile.

“It pays well enough, and I stay in the barracks. So, I can afford to lose a game or two. I’ve won two so far though.” She smirked at Isabela who rolled her eyes.

“Merc work, smuggling, kitten does odd jobs. We usually bring in more money with Hawke around. The woman is a magnet for trouble, and there’s always coin in that.” She joked, waving a hand around.

“I’m sure there could be work around for you. You’re very literate, right? Why not offer that around? I remember even Roddin muttering about hating doing the books.” Merrill chimed in.

Io thought about it for a moment and grinned at Merrill. “Honestly, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that. It doesn’t involve too much work, and I don’t need to be wandering in the open. How do I go about letting interested parties know?”

Fenris stretched, tossing his cards. “Let us do that. You’ll end up like the blood mage and taken advantage of more often than not.” He glared at Merrill, who ignored him studiously. Io looked to Bela curiously.

“Some characters aren’t to be taken at face value.” Was all she said, and she nodded at Fenris in agreement.

“To start with Roddin is as good as any, and we know where he sleeps so he should pay you right.” Fenris offered, and Io smiled at him, slapping his shoulder.

“I do know when people are trying to swindle me.”

“And you know your coin too.” Another look at Merrill.

“Dalish barter, we don’t use coin. How was I to know?” She gave him an annoyed look and picked her own cards back up with a frown.

Io smiled and patted her leg. “It’s okay. I don’t think many in the circle know much about it either and wouldn’t fare too well outside right away. I just read so much. And I did some bookkeeping in Kinloch.” She shrugged. “I’m very good with money.” The others leaned in close, gleams in their eyes.

“You are good with money? Very good?” Aveline asked, and Io laughed awkwardly.

“I suppose? It’s just numbers. I once saved Kinloch thousands in gold because I noticed a discrepancy in grain we were buying, the weight didn’t add up, not to what we were being charged, and after a few letters around I learned of better traders who charged less and wouldn’t cheat us.” She rolled her eyes, shrugging again.

“You say it as if that’s easy. Even Varric hates budgeting and bookkeeping.”

“It’s not like I enjoy it. It just comes easy to me. I’m good with numbers? It’s all the reading, I swear.”

“What aren’t you capable of?”

“Cooking. Dancing, riding, instruments, starting a fire without magic, talking to people, sewing. Making things.” She glared at them all playfully. “There’s plenty I’m not good at or capable of. And lots I’m only just manageable at.”

“Oh, you’re bad at sewing too?” Merrill chirped, and picked at some stitching that was coming loose in her sash. “Keeper was so let down at how hopeless my stitches were.”

“My stitching is ugly, messy, but holds firmly.” She pointed to the sack in the corner. “It’s an ugly little thing but holds up so far to what I have put it through.” She smiled. “I’ll never attempt clothing.” She shot a grimace down to the over stretched tunic, clinging to her belly. “which is why I am in desperate need.”

The group laughed, and Merrill ran a hand over her swollen stomach. “You look just about ready to burst.”

“How far along are you, do you know?” Io’s face fell at Aveline’s question, and she ran her own hands over the cloth, feeling the movement beneath.

“I don’t. For all I know I could be due any day, or not for a few more months.” She sighed, and the other elf gave her a pitying look.

“If Ander’s were here he could tell. Have you not had the clan healer look?”

“He said it’s unsure. They’re so much bigger, and two makes the reading even more foggy. Only time will tell.”

“Have you thought of names?” Fenris leaned on the table, chin propped on his hand.

“Oh yes. Plenty. It’s a secret though. And mostly depends, when I finally see them I’ll know.” She closed her eyes, and her mind went, as it often had, to what her little ones would look like.

“They’ll be beautiful, either way. Just like their mother. You love them so much already.” Bela reached across, a brief sad smile on her lips.

“I just hope I can keep them safe.” Io smiled, full lips pursed slightly. “Hopefully once my belly shrinks, and ankles stop swelling it’ll be easier.” She hooked a knee up, unlacing her boots. She grimaced at the sight of her ankles, swollen true to word, and red. “Remind me to ask healer for some more salve. If he trusts me not to use it on my face.” At the mention, the markings began itching like a rash.

“You sat through all of that, and they won’t let you put anything on it?”

“Another test. I should be able to resist irritating it. Though it can be annoying.” Merrill reached up to trace the one on her cheek. “It wasn’t painful.” She shot a look to Fenris’ markings, lyrium brands.

“What do they mean?” He asked her, frowning. “They all are meant to represent an elven pantheon, right?”

“Mythal, mine are dedicated to her and the traits assigned to her. She was the only I considered. The only god I held, even in the tower surrounded by the chant.” She scrunched up her nose, Merrills tracing tickling. She swatted at her hand.

“I once had a necklace, a charm my father had carved from Halla horn, with what he imagined she looked like.” She clenched her hands into her ankle, rubbing harshly at the skin.

Last she had seen it, was around the neck of the man she had given it to, in a fit of girlish fancy. He had not worn it when she saw him next. Likely tossed into a fire somewhere, her only token of her family. Gone forever. Because she had foolishly tried to cling to a man she hadn’t even truly loved, and who certainly hadn’t loved her.

“Well, let’s go see if we can find you clothes, and boots, that will actually fit. That looks painful.” As if to make a point, Fenris prodded the swollen skin, a smirk on his lips. She hissed in pain, smacking at his hands.

“You lot, poking my wounds. For shame.” She stuck her tongue out at him, but pulled on her boots all the same.

“You could always go without shoes you know!” Io rolled her eyes, looking at Merrills bare feet, toes wiggling.

“I should think you two might start wearing them. The streets are not the cleanest, and who knows what you could step on. And don’t forget frostbite.” Aveline commented.

“My thought’s exactly. I don’t want to die of infection because I stepped on shattered glass. I don’t know how your feet aren’t always in bloody tatters.” Fenris laughed reaching to rub his feet at Iolarin’s words.

“Thick soles. And it’s easier to move without those clunky things.” Io pinched him, and he jumped, ramming an elbow into the table, scattering the cards and money.

“Well, that’s enough of our game! Shall we find you a pretty dress?” Bela asked, scooping up her share quickly, as did the others.

“I’ve never had a pretty dress before, and I bet a dress would fit better.” She nodded eagerly and finished lacing her boot. She hunched over to pick up her pack, but Fenris swatted her hands away, hoisting it up onto his shoulders. She frowned at him.

“I know you’re perfectly capable. But if they’re dragging you around to try on everything that suits their fancy, it’s best you don’t have to lug this around.” Io rolled her eyes, noting his logic. “And I think I know some people who will make the trades you need.” He walked past her, patting her shoulder.

Io watched him go, fond smile on her lips.

“You’re all too kind to me.”

“It’s those big doe eyes of yours. Just can’t say no.” Bela wrapped an arm around her shoulder, and Merrill eagerly wrapped an arm around her waist on her free side.

“I am staying out of this. I will see you later. Please stay out of trouble, it’s enough work running the guards, let alone covering up for you lot.” Aveline waved goodbye to them outside the pub, and the other two women dragged Io up to hightown.

***

True enough, they had her trying on different cloths, fancy and plain. Eventually they settled on one very fine dress, which Io tried arguing against. She was honored, but what use did she have for it?

While they were not dissuaded, they did buy her two other plainer dresses, with many pockets, belts for pouches and her blades, and a pair of supple leather boots, which formed to her feet nicely.

The plainer dresses were muted browns and greens, which suited her nicely. They even bought her nice leathered trousers, lined with fur for the coming winter. She made a mental note to see about making a good thick coat with supplies from the clan as well.

She stared in the makeshift warped mirror in the tailors, admiring the way the dress fit her; hung just above her ankles, outer layer sleeves slashed open for easy movement, inner layer fitted to her, but didn’t constrict against her belly. The finer dress would be fitted for after the birth, something nice to look forward to. And the other two could always be taken in.

As she waited for Bela to finish her haggling, she asked Merrill to help her twist her hair into a braid. It took some work, and Merrill muttered under her breath often, but eventually the mess of short curls were bound away from her face. She vowed to leave her hair up, thankful to not have it in her eyes now.

“Your hair is so lovely, but chopped rather unevenly.”

“It was much longer. I believe the coterie men hacked it off, and left it as evidence of my supposed death. It’s a bother to cut it evenly, so I haven’t wasted the time. Once it grows out I can fix it.” She fingered the strands at the base of her neck. She wondered if she would ever let it grow out again.

“I think you look lovely with it short, and out of your face. You have very nice features.” Io smiled at Merrill and patted her hand.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were flirting with me.” She teased, grinning wickedly at the paler elf.

“Ah, oh. No, I just meant,” She took a deep breath, and looked at her abashedly. “Rambling, sorry. No, you’re very beautiful but I don’t, there’s someone else I’m fond of.” Her cheeks blazed red, and Io quirked a brow, scooting closer.

“Oh, I must know.” She wiggled a brow suggestively, and Merrill blushed harder.

“It’s not like that. I doubt they think of me like that at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure they like someone else.” She looked away wistfully, and Io gave her a sad smile.

“It’s not so nice when they don’t love you back, huh?” Her own thoughts wandered, a wicked grin and flash of gold. It was a shame when they didn’t love you back.

“When you look wistful like that, who are you thinking of?” Merrills voice was soft, and Io was saved the embarrassment of answering by Bela sauntering over, pleased smirk on her lips, and bundle under her arm.

“I’ve got the goods. Now let us see about finding you some good honest work!” She looped her free arm through Io’s, and the elf women followed her off towards hightown and Roddin.

The blacksmith smiled at them as they entered, motioning for them to flip the sign for closed.

“How are you doing today?” He blinked owlishly, and stared at her face, and Io touched it self-consciously. “So, that’s why you haven’t visited recently?”

“Yes, been a busy few days for me. Do I look very different?”

“Mystical, I’d say.” Io smiled at him, and Merrill giggled.

“She does look a bit ethereal. I think the hair adds to it.” She beamed proudly, happy with her handy work. Io smoothed a hand down the tight braid, hair gathered away from her face aside from a few stray wisps.

“I haven’t seen you in a dress before.” He remarked, gesturing to the woody brown one she wore. Io grinned, twirling slightly.

“It’s not much different from robes, though it does flare out a bit more. It has pockets too.” She slipped her hands into the hidden folds, wriggling her fingers around.

“Careful doe eyes, you might trip spinning around like that.” Bela teased, a bemused smile on her lips. Io stuck her tongue out at her.

“I hardly ever trip now, you know. All that training is paying off.” She crossed her arms, huffing.

“Now, now, ladies.” Jale laughed, motioning to the back room, shaking his head. “Did you come for any particular reason?” He inquired, curious.

Io glanced at the other women, then abashedly to Jale. “I was wondering if you might have some work I can do? I’m in the city so often, I need coin to do any business. The others suggested I see about bookkeeping, balancing ledgers and such. I’m really good with numbers.” She leaned against a counter, looking at him earnestly.

Jale looked at the other two helplessly. “How could I say no to such a face? Well, it would mean I could spend more time at the forge. What do you say to running the front desk?” He gave her a soft smile, tawny skin red in the cheeks.

“Are you sure? Would that be safe?” She nibbled her lip.

“Templars know better than to come to my shop. They aren’t welcome, not that they think highly of me enough to try.” He assured her and patted her shoulder comfortingly.

“You can’t keep hiding away.” Merrill murmured, and Io sighed heavily.

“I know. Alright, Jale. You have a deal. Should we work out a schedule?” He grinned at her, and the three of them worked out the best times for her to come in, while not interfering with what she was tasked with in the clan.

They were beginning price negotiations when a knock sounded at the door. Jale came back a moment later with Fenris trailing behind him, two packs slung over his shoulders.

“I see you got my duties all done for me.” He set the sacks down next to her, and she briefly glanced through them. “Wow. How’d you bargain for all of this? I could barely get a sack of wheat for all my haggling. What about the other supplies?” She blinked up at him, wide eyes awed. He smirked at her, leaning down slightly and ruffling her hair, earning a scowl.

“Too large to carry. They’re being dropped off as we speak.”

“I bet he has your bag stuffed in his mansion somewhere. How much did all this cost?” Bela chipped in, and Fenris blushed slightly, looking away. Io’s eyes widened again.

“You bought all this?”

“It’s not like you can trade any of that stuff for much round here. The daggers and pelts were sold, but not much else has much worth around here.” He shrugged, crossing his arms and avoiding eye contact.

Io stood, shaky smile on her face, and wrapped her arms around him. “Thank you.” His face reddened, and he closed his eyes, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder.

“Are you always this affectionate, or are we special?” Bela teased, breaking the tension. Io pulled away and grinned at the dark-skinned woman.

“Oh; I’ve always been this way. A hugging menace. Jowan liked to say I was a very physical person: always touching people. Probably comes from being an elf.” She shared a quick grin with Merrill, who nodded mock seriously.

“Fenris must be something else then. A dwarf maybe?” The other elf quipped, innocent expression on her face. Fenris scowled at her.

“You might be right. Bit tall for one though.” From her place next to him she waved her hand above her head at his height, a good four inches taller than her.

“Yet still shorter than Hawke. I bet we all look like dwarves next to them. Even Carver is shorter.” Io’s lips quirked, rolling her eyes. “Hawke also really likes touching. Odd, for a human.” The other called to mind shoulder slaps, arms slung around shoulders, absentminded touches.

“I really need to get to know this Hawke. I get conflicting accounts of a giant bear, or a stuffed one.” She teased them, and the other women smiled.

“Both, definitely.”

Jale cut in, arms full of scrolls and ledgers. “I hate to break up the gossip circle, but here’s everything I need help with.” He awkwardly set it down, everything tumbling over the table. He scratched his head, looking at it all. “Even when my sister was here we never really got much of this done. I’m sorry.” He smiled apologetically.

Io waved his concern away, shuffling through some of the papers. “It’ll be nice to have something to do. Do you mind if I take a few to work on at the clan?” She avoided everyone’s gaze, her eyes glazing over in thought. Feynriel had been having nightmares again, and they shared a tent. Having something to do would make the nights not seem so long.

“Of course, just don’t over work yourself. I will see you tomorrow at the time discussed?” Jale grinned at her, and she patted his arm.

“Of course. Thank you again for this opportunity. Now, before I leave… Merril, can you help me in the washroom?” She smiled sheepishly, motioning to the ties at her back. The twins were wriggling, and she really needed to pee. The others laughed, and the two elf women rushed from the room.

Jale had a special washroom set up, shielding the chamber area from the wash tub. He had engineered an interesting contraption, that rushed water down a chamber seat, flushing the waste down into a sewer line that drained outside the city. Few houses could afford the sewage line, but she imagined it would make the city cleaner if it was ever implemented everywhere.

 Merril helped her lace back up and her pale skin contrasted sharply with the brown of Io’s back. She briefly traced a finger along moles and freckles dotting the skin, glancing over the scars. Io giggled, and swatted at her hand.

“You’re so ticklish, da’len.” She teased, grinning at the other mage. Io rolled her eyes.

“Da’len? You sound like Marathari.” She prodded the thinner girl’s waist, sticking her tongue out. “I’m no child, Merril.”

Merril touched Io’s belly, feeling the squirming children underneath. “That’s very true.” They linked arms, then exited to the other room, earning chuckles from the others.

“We thought you might have drowned in there and were about to send a rescue team.” Bela crooned, smirking wickedly at them. Io rolled her eyes once more, ignoring the jibe.

“I’m pregnant. I need to pee a lot, and it takes a while. Get use to waiting.” She shot, then hugged Jale once. “Shall we?” Before she could reach for anything, Bela and Fenris snatched up the bags, heading out the door.

Io snorted, and gave Merril a droll stare. “You think they forget I can be stronger than both of them if I try?” She said sarcastically. Merril giggled, tugging Io along.

The group ambled through the streets, leading Io from the city to the camp, chatting amiably along the way.

“Before you head to the camp tomorrow, are we still training?” Fenris shot over his shoulder, raising one white brow. Io shrugged, thinking a moment.

“We can. Healer thinks I should be careful with too much exertion. Wouldn’t want me to go into labor and strand us on the wounded coast.” She joked, and rubbed her belly. “That would be just my luck, really.”

“We can always move training to lowtown or darktown. That way at least we can get a healer, someplace clean, and you wouldn’t be stuck with our abilities.” Io smiled, and the other chuckled briefly at the image of them helping her give birth on some sandy shore.

“That would be a better idea. I’ll meet you at the tavern then, after I’m finished at the forge.” They continued the rest of the way, sun setting behind them, making it to camp just before dark.

Marathari and Hahren commented on all the supplies they brought, surprised at the amount.

“Hopefully this will help with the coming winter. There’s rumors in the city it may be the coldest yet. Plenty to help keep everyone dry, warm, and fed. The dried meats will be here on the morrow.” The others helped unpack, though Merrill hung back with Feynriel, both shot disapproving looks. It got under Io’s skin, and she held back her biting remarks. These were her people, right? She had to be nice.

She walked the others to the edge of camp, backwards glance to make sure no scouts were nearby.

“Really. They act so childish.” She muttered, giving Merrill a hug, frown on her face.

“Don’t worry about me, da’len. This isn’t new. I just hope poor Feyn will be okay.”

Io sighed, glancing back to camp once more.

“I wish I knew how to help him.” Bela patted her shoulder, giving her a sympathetic look.

“Just be a friend to him. That’s all you really can do. When things calm down in the city again, you should bring him more often.”

“But for now, he should keep away. It’s dangerous how often you come and go.” Fenris had his typical frown in place, and Io smiled at him.

“I can’t stay cooped up in one place; and staying here all the time would drive me mad. I’ll be safe. Spirit helps me suppress my magical signature while in the city. Though if they ever thought to use my phylactery…” She worried her lip briefly, once again annoyed hers had been sent away before she could destroy it.

“As long as they continue to believe you’re dead, they should have no reason to even think to use it.” Fenris assured, while chastising her.

“I know, I know. I avoid the gallows, don’t I?” He shook his head, looking away from her. It was an argument they had often.

“We should be getting back. We will see you tomorrow, doe eyes.” Bela kissed her forehead, before dragging the others away. Io laughed, waving them off before heading back to camp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is also a nice fat chapter, and happy to boot! Just for those lovely comments! Things are really moving along, and Io is making a new family. I will now be spending all day furiously writing part two because inspiration has hit like lightening.


	33. 10th – 11th Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin was determined. Determined to be the best mother she could to her children, determined to beat back any pain that would harm them. Most of all, Iolarin was determined to not give up hope, to find Anders again.

10th – 11th Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

The next three weeks saw Io going to and from the city every day. She worked with Roddin until he sent her away, fearing to overwork her, and she kept up her training with the others as much as her pregnancy would allow.

In that time Io had helped Jale find discrepancies in inventory, costs, and helped him make deals with suppliers. She was growing a network of connections, and other business would hire her services to go over their books and help them make the most profit. Soon every merchant and supplier from darktown to hightown knew her name and payed for her services in some way or another.

She was earning more money than she knew what to do with, and she ended up setting up a safe in the back of Jale’s forge to store it all. She was beginning to think about setting up a business of her own; but she had as many shady clients as legitimate ones, and neither would want to be seen around the other. So, she traveled all over Kirkwall to help these people.

Part of her money began going to helping refugees, still there from Kirkwall, and improving the alienage bit by bit. Her name was whispered on everyone’s lips, so she was glad to have used an alias, though a ridiculous one her friends had helped her come up with: Quick-Silver. On account of her black eyes when they reflected light, making them look like quicksilver. She had found it ridiculous, but it helped when she was becoming so well known.

She was slumped in a back room of the hanged man, after a busy day, her feet propped up on a stool red and swollen, while Merrill applied healing salve to them. Then Aveline burst through the door, Bela and Fenris right behind her. The elven girls blinked wide eyed at the looks on their faces.

“Meradith is locking down Kirkwall. She claims they’re hunting for the mage underground, and no one can come in or out of the city.”

“Is there somewhere I can stay then? It’s not like they’re searching every house are they? It could be worse-“ She broke mid-sentence, eyes widening further and she curled in on herself, throbbing pain in her abdomen, and a wetness pooling between her legs.

Normally the pain wouldn’t freak her out, as she had learned it’s not necessarily a sign the babies were coming. And she had been used to the pain by now. But this was worse, and as she huddled there she was hit with another surge of pain, and she stared in horror at the dampness spreading down her pants. She hadn’t thought anything of the regular thrumming in her back and abdomen. But the wetness on her crotch was as sure a sign as any. She looked up at the others is trepidation.

“You know; you should really know better than to say something like that. It always gets worse.” Bela drawled, frowning. “We should get you to a healer.” Merrill yelped, drawing their attention. She shook the hand she had placed worriedly on Io’s back.

“You shocked me!” Io frowned, confused, when another wave hit her, and she leaned back, closing her eyes. They popped open when the others let out startled gasps. She glanced to where they were staring, and jerked away. A fire had sprouted on the pile of cloth next to her. Merrill rushed to put it out, patting it down. They all turned to stare at her.

“I didn’t do it!” She exclaimed, throwing her arms up; effectively shooting a blast of magic into the ceiling. She stared in horror.

“This isn’t good.”

“Andrastes ass it isn’t! How are we supposed to keep you hidden from Templars while you’re shooting magic all over the place? And get you to a healer?!” Aveline looked panicked, and glanced into the hallway, glaring away any curious glances.

“Well, there is one place I know the Templars won’t go….” Bela chipped in, a smirk on her lips. She leaned over to whisper something in Fenris’ ear, and he frowned, staring at Io who lay frozen in place, afraid of moving.

“Meet me there shortly. I’ll make some negotiations. Try to keep her hidden.”

Io frowned, looking between them before Bela hurried from the room.

“What? Where are we going?”

“You’ll see when we get there. Now let’s get you ready. Bloodmage, think you can send a message to that keeper of yours to let her know what’s going on? Aveline, can you help keep the Templars clear of our path?” He murmered their location to both women, earning a grimace from Aveline.

“Well, she’s certainly right that the Templars wouldn’t dare look there. Fine. But I’m staying away from the place. Keep her safe.” Aveline marched away, and Io stared after her in confusion.

“Anyone want to tell me what’s going on? And Fenris, Merrill has a name.” She chastised, earning an eye roll. Merrill helped her stand, shaking her head.

“You wouldn’t like it if I told you.” Io groaned, legs shaky beneath her.

“This explains why I’ve been to tired and clumsy lately. Mythal, but this is awful.” She leaned heavily on the table, and Merrill rushed to send her message. Fenris wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, tugging the hood around her face. “I’m scared, Fenris.” His face softened, and he slipped an arm around her waist, letting her lean on him slightly.

“We will be here, don’t be scared.” She managed to walk all the way to the stairs leading to hightown before another wave of pain made her stumble, and she stared up at the stairs in trepidation. Before she could comment about not being able to climb them, Merrill joined them and Fenris scooped her up into his arms.

He carried her up the stairs, and she buried her face in his shoulder in embarrassment. He kept it up all the way through back-alleys in hightown, until they stood outside The Blooming Rose. Io grimaced, giving Fenris a dirty look.

“You should have told me.”

“Would you have agreed to come?”

“Depending on reasons. I just don’t approve of the patrons, the establishment itself doesn’t bother me.” She scoffed, exasperated. “It disgusts me that such a place exists; not because I hate the workers, but because I hate that it’s a service in demand, yet seen as dirty and lowly. Pigs.”

“Most of them are that, but Madam Lusine protects the workers from most abuses.” Bela sauntered out to them, nodding to Fenris.

“Everything is in place. We’re renting a room in the back, with the promise that no Templars will set foot near us, and no questions will be asked.” Io grimaced again.

“I don’t want you to have to pay for all that for me.”

“Oh, we aren’t paying dear. Lusine knows who’s been donating for medical care and protection lately.” She winked, and Io flushed, looking away. “Quicksilver does have a heart of gold, really; making all sorts of donations to improving life.”

“We should hurry. I don’t like standing out here, in the open. And she keeps shocking me.” Fenris grunted, and Io gave him an apologetic look he ignored.

They situated themselves in a back room, though it wasn’t much to look at. A tub of water was steaming in the corner, and lots of sheets lined a mattress. A round woman bustled into the room, tutting at everyone surrounding her.

“I want them here, please?” She asked, reaching to grip Fenris’ hand as contractions wracked her body. The woman tutted again, before relenting.

“I’m the physician here. Well-practiced in births and helping to lower the rates in this establishment. Haven’t lost a single one in my time.” She boasted, then jumped slightly when a barrier burst around the pregnant elf.

“I’m sorry. I can’t control it.” She whimpered, and Merrill leaned down to mop at her brow.

“No matter. You’re not the first, nor the last mage we’ve had here.” She nodded decisively and gave them instructions on how to prepare.

“They won’t be coming for another few hours, at least. I’ll be back to check up on you periodically, until its time.” She commented, after an examination of her cervix and vagina. Io was flushed bright red, and Fenris had his back determinedly turned away from it all. Merrill sat next to her on the mattress and Bela was hunched by the small table, watching curiously.

“You best get over that embarrassment hun, I’ll be down there a few more times yet.” The other woman teased, before washing her hands and leaving the room. Bela brought her a glass of water, and Merrill propped up some more pillows behind her back. Io drank the water gratefully.

“Honestly. These two have the worst timing ever.” She forced a smile and nodded her thanks to the two women. “Fenris, sit down. You’re making my back hurt, standing there so rigidly.” She lowered the rough spun dress she had changed into, and patted the spot on her free side. Fenris cleared his throat, then walked over, lowing himself against the wall. He frowned at her.

“You’re looking a bit pale. Your hair is a mess too.” Io smacked his side, pouting at him.

“I’m laying here, in labor, and you’re insulting the way I look.” She did admit her hair was a bit wild, coming loose from the braid. She took a moment to untangle the dark curls, running her fingers through them.

“Let me fix it.” Merrill shimmied behind her, taking her hair between her pale fingers. They say there in silence, Io grunting in pain on occasion, as Merrill tamed her hair into a tight braid, off her face. Fenris helped her stand, walking around the room slowly as ordered. Her grip was white knuckled on his. He gave her a tight-lipped smile.

“Thank you three for being here with me.” She murmured, breathing laboriously, accepting another glass from Bela.

“It gets two mages off the street as the Templars do their sweep.” Fenris said off-handily. She smiled at him.

“We are glad to be able to help.” Merrill beamed at her, as Fenris led her back to the mattress. She leaned heavily against the pillows, shoving her gown between her legs as she bent them up.

Fenris plopped next to her, stealing one of her pillows. She just grunted at him.

“These are going to be a long few hours.”

***

And they were, full of drinking water, pacing, occasional check-ins from the nurse, lots of peeing, and more frequent flare-ups of magic. Finally, the woman said it was time, and Io breathed a sigh of relief. She was in so much pain, and just wanted it over with.

“Careful now. This is going to hurt even worse. I slipped as much pain reliever into your water as I dared, but I doubt it’ll do much good. And you two; her grip might get harder than you’d think.” She looked hard at Merrill and Fenris at her sides, holding her hands, and Bela who had taken seat behind Iolarin. They nodded. “Now let’s hope you don’t bring the building down around us. Now; push.”

It seemed like an eternity as they delivered the first one, but the pain was not so bad as she had experienced before, though it was grueling. She could handle it. As she pushed, magic had sparked all around, and she had screamed. Fenris had looked near panicked, like a deer ready to bolt. Yet her friends crooned encouragement, and even Fenris was awed and emotive at the sight of her son. She had a moment to hold him before the nurse passed him to Bela with strict care instructions, and the other was on the way.

The birth of her daughter was quicker, and soon she held both her children in her arms, though she feared dropping them for how weak she felt. But even then, her friends where there, helping her hold them to her skin, cooing nonsense to the three of them. Fenris reached out, pulling strands of her hair down, white shocks of curls where they had been pitch black.

“My work here is down for now. Keep an eye on them, if anything comes up I’ll be in the lobby. I’ll come check in the morning otherwise.” She gave a hard smile, nodding, before leaving the room. Io was thankful to her, and her dearest friends.

Merrill brushed the black and white hairs from her face. “The magic and birth was a great stress on you. It is not unusual, the whitening of hair. Even women with no magic sometimes get a few white spots, and some even lose hair.” She assured, humming happily as she curled against Io, large eyes twinkling.

“Just something more to hide your identity. And quite unique.” Fenris remarked, chuckling. “You look much changed from the dainty tranquil we saved.”

“Thank you. And we kind of match now,” She murmured, eyes droopy. The little ones were quite now, sleeping flush against her, and she could feel their heart beats under her fingers. Fenris and Merrill laid next to her, tentatively caressing the newborns. Bela sprawled at their feet, staring on with a smile on her lips.

“Of course, Larin. That’s what friends are for.”

***

The six of them slept like that for a while, before soft cries awoke them some hours later, and Io tried to work out feeding them. She held them awkwardly to her chest, and Fenris rolled over to fall asleep, refusing to watch. The women stared on in awe though.

“They’re so big. Their ears so much more round.” Merrill whispered, tracing her daughters ear. Io smiled sadly.

“Elf blooded. Like Feyn.” She leaned her head back. “But they’re mine, and I won’t let anything happen to them.”

“You’ll be a wonderful mother, doe eyes.” Bele massaged her feet, comment almost unnoticed. Io nudged her though, a curious expression at the tone. “Not everyone gets one, you know? Good mothers. It’s good to know you seem to be one.” She elaborated dismissively.

“I’ll try, though I won’t be perfect. I don’t remember my own mother well enough to know what I should do.”

“What are their names going to be?” It was Fenris, obviously not as asleep as he acted.

“Solona, and Karl.” She said simply, staring down at the suckling faces.

“I wonder if they’ll look much like you? They’re a bit pale and blue-eyed right now.” Io smiled, leaning her head back against the wall. Merrill snuggled closer to her.

“I hope so. Maybe bits of my parents. Who knows? Only time will tell.” Once the twins had seemed finished Io settled them down, swaddling them as Marathari had shown her. She then laid them on either side of her, between her friends and herself. Fenris rolled back around, to help cradle Solona, smiling softly at her sleeping face. Merrill practically wrapped around Karl, as if to protect him. In this moment, Iolarin felt there was no safer place for her and her children. It also brought the bittersweet yearning for those friends left in the circle or dead.

She wished Karl could see her now, wished he was there with her, to see the two beautiful children she had brought into the world.

That he had helped bring into the world.

 

In the morning, the nurse came to check on them as she had promised. She also came with the news that the lockdown had lifted. She checked Io over, prescribing some potions, mentioning how pale she looked.

“I told you that you were paler.” Fenris grumbled, and Io slapped his white marked arm, glaring at him.

“So rude.”

“I would also recommend avoiding too much exertion. You lost a lot of blood, and you’ll continue to for some time yet as it all clears out. Drink lots of water, eat plenty, and relax.” She nodded once more, declaring the infants perfectly healthy, and saying they could leave.

The others helped her rig two slings to carry the little ones in, though Fenris was adamant about carrying one, her needing to avoid over doing it and all. The women joked that he was just hopelessly in love with them, and didn’t want to let them from his sight. He denied it, red cheeked. But Io let him carry Solona against his chest. They made their way slowly to the hanged man, careful of the twins, and Io’s weakness.

Aveline joined them there, and they surrounded a back table.

“Seems everything went better than I feared. Good. They’re beautiful.” The redhead commented, eyes softening as Io showed them to her.

“Question is, are you up to the trip back to Sundermount?” Fenris had her daughter cradled in his arms, as she fed Karl under her cloak.

“I could always rent a cart, and I’m sure the Keeper is worried sick. Not to mention Healer will have my head for giving birth in the city.” She shook her head, glancing down at the little boy swaddled in her arms.

“I have more news, and it won’t be good: The expedition returned this morning, with the Hawkes and others nowhere in sight. I tried to question Bartrand, but he and his men were gone before I made it into the merchant’s guild. The rumors my men have gathered are fragmented at best.” Avelines pale freckled face was grave, and everyone else’s’ had fallen.

“But we don’t know if anything had happened?” Her voice shook, and Io had to grip the table hard to hold her emotions under control. Aveline looked at her sadly.

“We don’t know. Only time will tell.”

Fenris gently touched her shoulder, and she cradled her son against her chest head bowed. Aveline stood, grim-faced. “I will see what more I can find. In the meantime, worrying won’t do anyone any good. So don’t.” She nodded once, and turned on her heel, marching from the tavern. The others stared at the table for a time, silently dwelling on the news.

“Fenris, can you walk me to Jale’s before we head back to the clan?” He nodded, and the two stood, shifting the infants into their slings. Merrill and Bela watched them, the former with wide sad eyes.

“Can I ask you two to send some letters for me, a little later? I’ll see if any of my contacts have any information.” Bela smiled at her, and Merrill nodded. “I refuse to just sit around doing nothing.” With that, she and Fenris made their way up to hightown.

“I wonder if it’s supposed to hurt this much after.” She wheezed, only a handful of steps from the bottom. She clutched at her abdomen, grimacing. Fenris stared at her, face scrunched in worry. “I’ll be fine, it’s just a bitch. I also think I’ll need to change the padding in my pants when we get there.” She gave him a sardonic smile, and pressed on. Her son squirmed in his sling against her chest, and she wrapped an arm around him.

“Solona is sound asleep. I thought babies were louder.” Fenris commented, looking down at the baby swaddled against his chest, as they made their way slowly up the steps.

“I suppose so. I wouldn’t know, there were hardly ever infants in the circle. And Karl here is squirming up a storm.” She peeked over at her daughter, sound asleep, cherub face scrunched up. “Looks fine to me.” She smiled at her friend, who rolled his eyes. She linked her free arm in his, and he let her lean on him without comment.

They reached the smithy eventually, sun high in the sky. The other elf smiled wide at them, tawny skin glistening with sweat as he finished up at the forge.

“Well, this is new!” He leaned in, peering at the now awake infants, staring at the world in confusion. “Should you be moving around so much right now?” He glanced up at her rosy face, sweat on her brow. She gave him a weak smile.

“Probably not. Mind if I use the washroom really quick?” He nodded, and she handed him Karl, showing him carefully how to hold the little bundle. The two men watched her go worriedly.

“I don’t think she’d be up to the walk to Sundermount. She looks rather pale.” Fenris commented, shifting the little girl against his hip.

“I don’t know anything about child birth, but she does not look good. Like she has lost a lot of blood.” The other elf nodded, watching Jale hold Karl awkwardly.

Io came out at that moment, face drawn. “It appears I am still bleeding quite a bit. While I was warned, there would be some, this seems a bit much. Maybe I should rent a room at the hanged man until it eases up.” She scooped up Karl, and sat on a nearby stool. “Got some ink and paper I could use? I need to write some letters.” The smith nodded, and hurried to the back room. Io absently rocked the infant in her arms, staring into the distance.

“What do you think happened?”

“I don’t know Larin. But I’m sure they’re fine. Tara is made of sturdy stuff, and nothing else has torn her down yet. Nor the others. They’ll be back.” Fenris assured her, and Io found comfort in his words.

“For now, we will do what we can.” Jale came back with the supplies and escorted them to his rooms, offering the two the cushions. They laid the infants between them.

“How long will you be in the city? I know this isn’t much,” Jale smiled and rolled his eyes as he gestured around the sitting room. “But you could stay here. I do have a spare room I could clean out.”

Io smiled at her friend. “It is better than where Fenris lives.” He rolled his eyes at her before picking up one of the twins to ignore her. “But I would hate to impose. As quiet as they are now, I don’t think they’ll stay that way.” She looked over at the little ones, her daughter sound asleep, and son looking around at the world squinty eyed. A soft smile pulled at her lips, and she brushed white and black strands from her face.

Jale chuckled, and sat down next to her, picking up some papers and spreading them out. “I don’t mind, really. This is a safe place for you to stay, and you would need to travel far less for your,” He paused and grimaced slightly. “Transactions.” He disliked much of the kinds of things she did, and the people she worked with. She patted his arm.

“I will write to the keeper and find out her thoughts on the matter, yes? And to let her know that I’m safe. Until I get her reply I suppose I’ll take you up on your offer.” Fenris nodded, relieved she wouldn’t try to travel in her condition. She was terribly pale, and he could see sweat beading at her hairline even sitting down.

Io and Jale set about writing letters to her contacts, and to the keeper. Fenris fretted about with the infants, carefully changing nappies and soothing them between feedings. The sun was low in the sky, not far from setting when there was a knock on the door.

Jale came back moments later with Bela and Merrill in tow. The pale elf woman frowned worriedly, and knelt by Io touching her clammy face. Iolarin gave her a weak smile, patting her hand.

“I am fine Merrill.” She held up the bundle of letters. “This is for the keeper, and these for the addresses marked.” Fenris stood, handed Merrill Solona, and snatched up the letters.

“I will go with Isabella, to deliver these. Larin has settled on staying here for the night. Merrill, watch over them?” Merrill nodded, rocking the infant carefully. Bela sauntered over, leaning down to place a kiss against Io’s black and white hair.

“Rest, kitten. We’ll deliver these and be back in the morning.” Io nodded, unwilling and too tired to argue. Jale saw the others out, coming back to escort the elf women to the spare room.

“I cleaned it out a little, and will bring a spare blanket shortly.” The room was not large, nor too small. It had a four-poster bed, writing desk, and nightstand with a bright glowing candle. Nestled against one wall was a fireplace, embers lighting and warming the room. Io smiled gratefully to her friend.

As simple and small as it was, it was better than she had in memory, and a door that locked on the inside.

“This is wonderful, thank you.” She and Merrill carefully laid the sleeping infants into the center of the bed, sitting on either side of them. Jale nodded, then set off to find his spare bedding. Merrill curled up around the sleeping children, stroking their faces gently. Io watched her wistfully.

“Growing up in the clan, did you help with the children? You seem a natural, while I fumble. I’ve no idea how I’ll get through this.” She laid next to them, watching as the other elf’s eyes rose to hers.

“The clan is very close knit; everyone helps in some way.” She paused thoughtfully. “Were there never babies in the circle?”

Io shook her head, sorrow overcoming her for a moment. “Children, yes; as early as they start showing. But they are usually kept separate. Never babies.” She took a shuddering breath. “Women did become pregnant, though not as often as you’d think; we were all afraid. Once the girl would give birth she’d be moved to another circle, and her baby never seen.” It was a barbaric practice.

“That is terrible!” Even in her outrage, Merrill was careful to keep her voice lowered. “How could they do that?”

“Easily Merrill. Fear kept us in our place, and we weren’t allowed such attachments. The punishment for fraternization kept pregnancies low. We were afraid to grow too close to anyone.” And she had lost everyone she had ever grown close to.

Merrill reached out, touching her cheek gently. “You never have to go back there. You have us, and we won’t let anyone take these little ones away from you.” Merrill’s tone was so serious and sincere, it brought tear to her dark eyes.

“Thank you, Merrill.” She took a shaky breath and began singing her lullaby, and both women were asleep when Jale finally returned. He carefully covered them with the blankets, and tossed another log in the fire for good measure. Winter was on the horizon, and the nights were turning bitterly cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another big chapter! And the twins are here! Forgive me if everything seems to be moving fast, and any inaccuracies with the birth; I did the best research I could but I myself have never given birth so the intricacies were guessed at.  
> Oh no! Bartrand returned, but without Hawke and co? Oh what could have happened to them! (I'm dramatic, and you all should already know. If not, I would like to point you to the other story added to the series that depicts the expedition!)  
> Io gets involved with a lot of very shady people. It's all part of her plan.  
> Lemme know what you think! Now back to writing part 2....


	34. 13th – 14th Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin wandered. She wandered through fade clouded streets, wandered through the dreams of others. She wandered in search of those she lost.

13th – 14th Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

It was two days before Iolarin received any response from her contacts. Marathari had sent word, urging her to be safe, and do as she needed to recover; the clan would be there for here when she was ready to travel.

The twins had taken to waking her at odd hours, and she had put up a sort of barrier to keep the cries to her room. They were fussy, and she was a wreck. She had no idea how to raise infants. So, on the second day of waiting when the letter had come, Merrill volunteered to watch the infants, goats milk on hand to feed them, while Io went with Fenris to meet her contact in darktown.

Io had thankfully taken the help. She threw on her cloak, trousers, and strapped her swords to her belt, which needed more tightening than the last time she wore it. She also grabbed the cowl they had ordered, that fit snugly around her lower face; obscuring her identity further.

Fenris was nervous, as they made their way through the city, unsure of this contact. Io had mentioned they had ties to the coterie, and the smugglers. Her assurances that they wouldn’t try anything falling on deaf ears.

When they arrived, he was surprised to see Athenril waiting at the meeting location. He reached for his sword, sure this was an ambush.

“Down boy. This is a simple meeting. Do you think I’d ruin all that hard work of months ago, by turning her in now?” The woman asked, quirking a brow. “I felt a meeting in person was best, to see what all that was worth.”

Io rolled her eyes, lips quirking under the cowl. “And in response to my business proposal. I know you don’t do anything for free.” She patted her friends arm, and he relaxed his grip, but was still tense.

“True enough. So, what do you propose? There’s already a debt owed for freeing you.”

“That, in part, is why I called you here. I wish to take over the debt owed, for my rescue. And to offer my services, in return for what information you have.” Her voice was cool, and even Fenris could barely tell how harried she was from the birth and the last two days. She held herself well. He wondered where she had learned the ability to hide it all so well.

“And what could you offer me? Certainly, you’re well known enough for your connections with business, and free enough with your money that the needy laud you; but all that I have, and more. So,” The smuggler smirked, leaning against a wall. “What can you possibly offer me?”

Io pulled out one of her daggers, and Fenris saw the other elf’s jaw tense. Then, a burst of magic surrounded her, and for a moment it was like the fade come to life, spirits seeming to swarm around her, and her eyes glowed bright white. Then, with a thrust of her arm, the wall behind Athenril crumbled around her feet. Fenris staggered back, shaken by it, and Athenril was worse, on the ground with wide awed eyes. Then the magic faded, and Io sheathed her sword.

“An impressive show. Is that why they call you quicksilver?” Athenril’s voice shook, but she held an impressed smirk on her face as she stood. “So, you offer your abilities?”

“Hawke worked for you, to pay off their debt. And in this way, I can make more contacts than on my own. I have my own goals in mind. This will benefit us both, will it not?”

“Larin, are you sure this is wise?” Fenris demanded, coming close to her. “If the others knew your plans-“ She cut him off with a glare and sharp words.

“They would have interfered. I can handle myself just fine.” He clenched his fists, looking away. He knew better than to stop her, knew she was doing what she thought was best. Yet it was hard, to see her here amongst the lowest Kirkwall had.

“Your answer, Athenril?” The smugglers smile widened, and she nodded, approaching to shake Iolarin’s hand.

“You have a deal, mage. The debt owed will be transferred to you, to be worked off as the coterie sees fit. It’ll be nice working with you.” She handed out a small stack of papers, bound with a leather cord. “You may not like what those have to say, though.” She waved as she vanished into the darkened ally near them.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Larin…” Fenris trailed off, frowning as he watched her eyes widen as she read the documents. He was about to ask her what they said when she crumbled them, throwing the mass and screaming, lightening shooting from her hands and her eyes glowing bright white once more.

He barely caught her when she fell. Tears streaked down her face. He reached out, grabbing the documents, glaring when he couldn’t get a clear grasp of what they said. When he looked back, her eyes were closed, and more of her hair had turned white. And he could see blood soaking the cloth on her thighs.

He stuffed the papers in a pouch on his belt, hoisted her in his arms and made his way quickly to the hangedman.

***

He had felt minimal relief when he had seen Aveline with Isabella at a table when he walked in, and they had hurriedly followed him to a back room. Aveline had gone to fetch a healer, and Isabela helped him work healing potions down her throat.

She had not even woken when the healer had come, announcing she was putting too much stress on her body and loosing too much blood. The woman had instructed them to keep in her bed for the next few days, and insure she got enough potions to help with the healing.

Or she could die.

It had left the three of them shaken; Aveline had gotten a cart to help take the unconscious elf back to hightown, Bela had refused to leave her side. Fenris was furious with her.

The trip to darktown had been a mistake, and then the unnecessary use of her powers worse.

He remembered, as they laid her in her bed at Jale’s, what had caused the second burst of spirit magic. As Merrill settled the sleeping twins in the cot Jale had worked together for them, they settled by the fire. Fenris handed Isabella the papers.

He watched her hands begin to shake, and face cloud with anger.

“Anthril’s contacts managed to gather the story from Bartrand. Supposedly the others were trapped in a cave-in, and died while they were in the deep roads, and none of his men gave conflicting accounts; Bartrand and the others had gone some ways in, and when Bartrand came back he was alone.”

Her voice shook, and Merrill gasped, tears sliding down her face. Fenris felt an emptiness consume him, at those words. Tara was gone.

“It says here there is a dwarf in the merchants’ guild, Bodahn something, who is raising money to go back to at least retrieve the remains, something about owing them a debt…” Merrill reached out to take the papers as Isabella lowered them, and Aveline stood.

“I don’t give a damn what Bartrand says,” yet the others could hear the strain in her voice. “I wouldn’t trust the slimy git. I’m going to interrogate this Bodahn, and see what he has to say.” She jumped a little, having been near the bed when Io reached out. The other women hurried to her side.

“I want to go with you.” She rasped out.

“Hush kitten, we have express orders that you are to do no such thing. Lay down, please?” Bela was wiping a wet rag across her forehead, hands shaking slightly.

“I have to know,” It was Merrill who interrupted her this time.

“And we will tell you, as soon as we know. You must rest. You nearly died, pushing yourself today.” Her words her harsh, and she glared at the other elf sternly. Io could not meet her gaze.

“The others are right; I will send word as soon as I find out anything.” With that, the redhead turned, leaving the room quickly.

“I’m going to go talk to Jale, and see about sending word to your associates. I won’t have you leaving this room for any reason until you’re better.” Isabella left, closing the door softly behind her.

“I will go speak to the keeper, maybe she or healer can come check up on you, to help with the healing.” That left her alone with Fenris, who had not left the spot by the fireplace. As soon as the door closed, and Merrills footsteps receded, he stood and went to the cot, rocking it gently.

“You’re angry with me.” She said, watching his rigid back. She heard his sigh, saw him shake his head.

“I am scared for you. You push yourself too hard. Like you’re still punishing yourself.” He turned to her, and she looked away, guilt plain on her face. She felt the bed sink to her left as he sat down. He reached out, hand touching her cheek and turning her to face him.

“I have just learned that I may have lost someone I had grown to care about, please do not cost me another.” His voice broke, and tears escaped her lashes, and she wrapped her arms around Fenris waist, head on his lap.

“He can’t be dead. I can’t lose him, Fenris. He was all that kept me going, at times. I never stopped loving him.” She sobbed, and he ran his fingers through her messy white and black curls.

“I know.” He tried to ignore his own tears, the heartache too much. All he could think about was Tara’s smiling face every time they came to visit him, their laugh when they were all drinking at the hangedman.

The two stayed like that a while, until her breathing slowed and she fell into fitful sleep. He cocooned her in blankets, and went back by the cot, pulling up the chair to watch the sleeping children.

The others came back in the morning, grim faced, haggard. But there was a spark to their eyes. Jale allowed them to congregate in his sitting room, rolling his eyes with a smart mouthed comment about his house becoming the newest meet hub.

Aveline spoke first. “I spoke to the dwarf Bodahn, who has suspicions he’s afraid to voice too loudly, about what happened.” She eyed them wearily before speaking. “He reports that Bartrand was acting suspicious when he came back without the others, paranoid even. They left without even continuing deeper, and any voices brought up in concern for the others were quashed.

“He thinks either the others were trapped by some trickery, or Bartrand managed to kill them. Supposedly the dwarf brought something back, but he would not let anyone know what it was.”

“That’s hardly inspiring.” Fenris snapped, and Aveline glared at him.

“Do you really think one lone dwarf could have killed Tara and the others?” She shot back angrily. “It is something, more than we had.”

“I hate to interrupt, and please remember not to shoot the messenger,” Jale spoke, opening the door. Four heads turned to stare at him. He swallowed thickly. “Feynriel is here, and he wishes to see Iolarin. I wasn’t sure if I should wake her?” He opened the door further, young Feyn peeking in, wringing his hands.

“Hello dove, we don’t mean to be rude.” Bela stood, sauntering over to the young man. “Larin should rest as much as she can, but you can stay until she wakes up, if Roddin doesn’t mind?” She looked imploringly at the smith, who rolled his eyes.

“The more the merrier. Just keep in mind I’m not cooking for you lot.” He waved them back, and left to tend the forge.

“I brought some flat bread and stew, for Larin…” He pulled his sachet in front of him, pulling out the earthen jar, and stack of flat breads. Everyone’s eyes softened.

“I think she’ll love that.” Merrill stood, casting the others a tired look. “I’ll go check in on her, and the little ones. Come with me, Feyn?” She tugged him along, and the other women looked to Fenris. Both elves were not holding up well, under this news. It was obvious they sought the comfort and warmth Io always offered and suffered with her declined health.

***

Io was awake, and in the chair Fenris had occupied all night, one infant rocking in the cot, the other feeding. She had a serene, sort of far off look on her face.

Feyn approached her, knelling at her feet, setting the food by the fire to warm, while he stared in awe at the little girl in her arms.

“Do you want to hold her, Feyn?” Her voice was calm, soothing, as she pulled away Solona, holding the child out to the boy. His eyes widened, and he nodded. He carefully cradled the small head, tracing the rounded ears so like his own.

“They’re just like me…” He murmured, and Io smiled at him, reaching out to tuck his blond hair behind his ear. The tenderness of the scene nearly brought Merrill to tears, who had yet to move from the doorway.

Io held out her hand, and Merrill stumbled over, wrapping herself around the darker skinned elf.

“Shh, it’ll be okay Merrill. They’ll return to us, you’ll see.” Feyn looked up from his reverie, and frowned at Io.

“You were in my dreams last night.” He accused, and her laughter rung throughout the room.

“Yes. I just started wandering, lost. You are like a beacon in that dark place, little Feyn.” She crooned, and he rolled his eyes.

“Better you than a demon, I suppose.” He turned his focus back to the child, whispering nonsense to her.

“How can you be so sure, Larin? It all seems so hopeless.” Merrill whispered, head in Io’s lap, Io’s darker fingers running through her loose hair.

“The spirits told me.” She said simply, shrugging.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry everyone; only one chapter today and it's late! Been a very busy day.  
> Hope you all enjoyed that little tidbit, and look forward to the next few chapters! We are almost at and end.  
> As always, I love hearing from you guys. It encourages me to keep writing.


	35. 17th – 18th Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin pushed. She pushed herself past breaking points, pushed herself to become better and stronger. She pushed against a world that would try to hold her down.

17th – 18th Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

The others decided to dig further into what happened, before settling too far into despair. Feyn visited as often as he dared, in love with the twins and bringing updates between the clan and Iolarin.

Io was restless, three days on bedrest, and she needed to get out and do something. Fenris and Merrill were always with her, adamant she stay put. She snapped at them, at her wits end.

“You cannot keep me locked up here! I refuse to be anyone’s prisoner ever again.” Her words were like ice water, shocking them deeply. She resolved to feel no guilt over it, sick of being treated like glass. “Now, you can either step aside and let me walk outside, or I will make you step aside.” To emphasize her point, she took a step towards them. Their unison twitch did not go unnoticed.

“Can’t you understand we are worried about you? Every time we turn our backs it’s like you’re getting yourself in trouble!” Fenris spat, gesturing at her angrily. Merrill stepped in between them.

“Please, don’t fight like this.” She turned to Larin. “How about a compromise? We stay in hightown, and you let us go with you?” Her voice was pleading, her large eyes shining with the beginnings of tears. Io looked away, relenting. “Thank you.” She shot Fenris a disapproving look, and he stepped back as well. They were all just tense, with all this waiting.

Io swaddled Solona against her chest, and Merrill had taken Karl. They were careful to tuck their rounded ears into the wraps, for they’d be suspicious in a trio of elves, and elf-blooded children were scorned by most.

They were slow going, and Io was careful not to push herself too much, feeling the strain with even just walking through the market. It had been a week since she had given birth, and she hated how long it was taking to heal. She wished the healer could come to see her, though she understood the danger of them coming into the city, out of the safety of the clan.

Feyn coming and going was dangerous enough. She feared for him every time he came, but hadn’t the heart to ask him to stay away. Everyone else around her was on edge, and he was a relief; sincere, eager for the chance to be around people who were not afraid of him. As she had told him, he was a beacon.

They strolled through the aisles, inspecting many of the stalls. Io bought a few trinkets, toys for the children, teething beads, a halla shaped doll for Merrill, who beamed happily at the gift. She bought Fenris a children’s book, with instructions he had to read it to the twins when he visited. She bought Bela a set of bangles, that shone in the light and held a ruby in the center. For Aveline she bought new bracers, to be inscribed with protection runes and delivered at a later date. She also bought other miscellaneous things, having them addressed to Fenris’ mansion – “You have all that space, may as well use it.” – and payed with coin on hand.

She was glad for a chance to spend it.

They were on their way back when Merrill trailed off to the side, following something. Io shot Fenris a look, smiling at her friend’s antics. No wonder she got lost so often.

“Merrill love, I’d appreciate if you didn’t get lost with my son strapped to your chest.” She called, approaching. She blinked wide black eyes when the other woman bolted upright, a small fluffy calico kitten in her outstretched hands. Io peered into the alley, and her heart broke. Surrounded by three other kittens the mother lay frozen, eyes clouded over.

Io tittered, leaning down carefully to grab the remaining. Two bore markings similar to the one Merrill held, and the runt was all white, red albino eyes staring up at her. She handed the bigger two to Fenris, holding the white one to her chest next to her daughter. The little things mewled hungrily.

They made it back to Jale’s house, and he stared bemusedly at the kittens as they closed the door behind them. “More house guests?” He laughed and just shook his head. “I do believe I am being overrun.”

“It’s only for a little while, until they’re big enough to eat on their own?” Iolarin looked at him with imploring eyes, and he smiled.

“Alright. Simply can’t say no to that face. But I do have to wonder how you’ll feed them at all.” Io grinned at him, an almost devious glint to it.

“We once raised kittens in Kinloch; you can nurse them with a cloth and some milk, and it won’t be long till they can at least drink from a bowl.” Her mind flashed briefly to a small orange tabby, Alains grinning face as he showed her a different set of kittens. As she came back to herself, she shook her head at her friends concerned gazes.

She had grown melancholy, and vowed to put it aside for now. There was nothing that she could do, not yet.

“Do you plan on keeping them all?” Jale asked, as they set up a small box in her room by the bed, for the little ones. She took and cut up a piece of rabbit hide she had, lining one side to mimic another cat for them.

“I don’t think it’d be very safe for them back at the clan. But I don’t know who could take them…”

“I could take one, when they’re old enough.” Merrill chimed in, looking at the bigger one she had shown them. She reached out, gently rubbing behind its ears. She looked at Fenris. “You do have a lot of mice running around your mansion…” She lead.

“Oh, that’s a great idea. Would you take one, Fenris?” He looked hopelessly between the two women, and sighed.

“It seems I have little choice. Not that I think I would be the best person to raise a cat...”

“That’s the thing with cats though; once they’re old enough they take care of themselves, and they can brood right along with you.” Io teased, and he glowered at her.

“That leaves two more, but that can wait until they’re old enough to survive without too much help.” Jale brought over a ragged towel, and they covered half the box, trapping warmth in until it was time to feed them.

The four elves ate supper together, a hearty stew and flat bread from the clan. They talked amicably, meaningless details about their days. Fenris offered to stay and help, but Io ushered him off.

“I think I can manage tonight on my own. You two head home, I will see you tomorrow.” She and Jale waved them off before turning in for the night. Io stayed awake a while, working on things she had fallen behind on while recovering, paperwork and trade arguments.

***

Bela came barging in the next morning, looking about as bad as Io for lack of sleep. Her chest was heaving, and she gripped the other woman’s shoulders.

“I had to come here first; there’s rumors that a group of people were seen leaving the deeproads a fortnight ago. Fitting Hawke and the others description. No one knows where they are now, but that’s something better than we had, right?” Her words came out a near jumble, unusual for her savvy collected self.

Io had to sit, heart pounding in her chest. The spirits had been right. Anders was alive. She could barely believe it, and had to fight the tears that threatened to fall. The hope was crushing, and Bela wrapped her arms around the shorter woman.

“We should tell the others…” Her voice was weak, and she let out a trembling laugh, her freckled cheeks red with the rushing emotions. Bela pulled back, nodding.

“Yes, I will go do that.” She beamed, the piercing on her lip catching the dim sunlight. She spun on her heel, marching out the door. Roddin came by, steaming mugs in hand.

“Coffee?” Her light laugher, like a bubbling creek, soothed his soul, and they sat together, until the others came.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no... it's getting so close. I am really considering just posting part 2 slowly after this, rather than waiting until it's all finished.  
> What do you guys think? Could you wait until part 2 was finished, and edited for mistakes, for a few months? Or would you all prefer I just start posting it right away, one chapter a week?


	36. 21st Day of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iolarin watched. She watched her friends go about their lives, watched the city and how it worked. She watched and waiting for the right opportunity to put her plans into motion.

21st Day of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

They spent the next three days investigating the rumors, finding more evidence pointing to their friend’s survival, though no one could find out where they were, only that it seemed they were getting closer.

Everyone was more lighthearted, at ease for the first time since Bartrands arrival and disappearance in Kirkwall. They were all at Merrills, giving Jale some time to himself at the house.

Io and Merrill were in her bedroom, kittens in one corner, wobbling around, sniffing the place out. The two were changing the twins, bathing them down and pulling on the small gowns Aveline had bought for them to be swaddled in.

They heard their friends in the other room, laughing over their card game, drinking heartily. The girls smiled at each other, finishing their task before heading back out. As they approached the table, Fenris held out his hands expectantly.

It warmed her heart, how much her friends loved her children. Even Isabella and Aveline had taken turns holding them, crooning over how cute they were.

She handed Fenris her daughter, who seemed to like the broody elf the better of the two. He had adapted well to holding the babies, careful of his armor, and he rested the child on his lap against his stomach.

“So, Iolarin, tell us a story.” It was Aveline who spoke, tossing aside her hand after losing another round. Io rolled her dark eyes, huffing slightly.

“Really, I think it should be your turn. I’m getting rather sick of talking about myself. And you lot should find better entertainment.” She teased, as they were always prodding her to learn more.

“Then tell us a story about Anders.” Merrill was getting too good at that brow wiggle, and Io couldn’t help but giggle.

“Fine, Fine. A story about Anders huh?” She tapped her chin, pondering it a moment. “Well, do you know anything about the first time we really met?” Head shakes around the table, and she smile deviously.

“Well, I was really young, barely in the circle a year. He was six years older, and in different quarters. Yet everyone seemed to be under the impression that I knew every book in the circle by heart.” She coughed, looking sideways. “Which, while partially true, was annoying. It meant everyone came to me when they were looking for something, even at that age. Sometimes even our teachers would come asking me for help.” The group laughed, and she playfully glared at them.

“I learned to read in the chantry orphanage, and read everything there in a year. At Kinloch there were so many more book; I read everything available to me within that first year.

“Well, Anders came to me, looking for one thing or another, I don’t actually remember what. What I do recall was scaling bookshelves grabbing armfuls of books, rambling on and on. By that point people usually had this sort of glassy eyed look, not paying attention – even my best friend Jowan got that look when I started describing things – but there Anders was, as I looked down, staring fixedly at me, nodding along. I very nearly fell from shock.” She laughed, and so did the others, the image of her gob smacked face flashing through their minds.

“Oh, but no; I only dropped the bulging tome I had on top of his head. I apologized profusely, and he laughed it off, saying he might need me to refresh his memory later if he suffered any head trauma.”  She paused, rolling her eyes and shifting her son in her lap. “Almost died of embarrassment. Then the next day he goes and finds me again, teasing me about it and asking for my help with his research, on the account of him being a little ‘fuzzy’ since I dropped a brick on his head.” She shrugged, smiling to herself as she recalled their blooming friendship.

“I always thought the abomination wasn’t quite right in the head.” Io gasped, grinning as she reached across the table to smack Fenris’ arm for his comment.

“You’re so rude!” The table erupted in laughter, and they all took turns telling humorous stories. The sun had set fully when Bela and Io waved the others off, the pirate taking her turn to see Io safely home.

She strapped Karl to her full bosom, smirking at his grabby little hands as they walked. “Insatiable little fiends, aren’t they? Sorry little one, nothing of sustenance there.” Io laughed, shaking her head as they slowly made their way back to hightown.

“Almost two weeks old, and I swear they just keep demanding to eat more.” She rubbed a breast tenderly, mock grimacing. Then she adjusted her daughter, who slept soundly, pulling her daggers into better reach. She briefly wondered how it would be if she had to fight with a baby strapped to her chest.

They made it to hightown without a hiccup, and Bela helped her settle the little ones in their cot. Merrill had volunteered to host the kittens for a few days, adoring playing with them.

Bela stayed just long enough to say goodnight to Jale, and then was on her way back to the hanged man.

Jale treated her to some candied fruit, a gift from the guards as a thank you for all Jale’s hard work for them.

When she finally fell asleep, she was deliciously tired and content. She would see Anders again soon, and her friends were happy again. For the first time in a long time, she had a peaceful sleep without many dreams, or fade venturing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter after this my lovelies! I do hope you are ready.  
> I have loved hearing from you all, and getting to share this story with you. I still haven't settled on how I'm going to go about part two, though I have been writing furiously to try and finish it.   
> Please let me know your thoughts on this story, and how soon you want to see more, okay?  
> I think I will hold off the last chapter until tomorrow, since it is the final one. Give it it's own day, y'know? Well, until then I hope to hear from you all, and enjoy!


	37. 22nd – 23rd Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anders and Iolarin embraced. They embraced again for the first time in years, embraced and fought away the shadows in their hearts. Embraced like it might be the last time, every time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! This is it lovelies! <3 the final chapter for Part One. I hope you all have enjoyed this, because I have. It has truly been a journey, and I am so glad I was able to share this with you all.

22nd – 23rd Days of Kingsway, 9:32 DRAGON

The next day was spent in a whirlwind, news finally come that Hawke and company would be returned soon, a letter sent ahead of them. It mainly said there would be much to discuss, and nothing they could say over letter. They were safe enough, and were not too far away.

The others began preparing, informing Hawke’s mother and uncle, setting as much into motion as they could to greet the party upon their return.

Fenris was with her and the twins, keeping her company. They were drinking tea, and Io was giddy with anticipation. Fenris watched her silently a while, calculating his words.

“Have you ever been to Anders’ clinic?” She blinked owlishly, surprised at the sudden question.

“I don’t believe I have, why?” She narrowed her eyes and him, and lifted a brow when he smirked at her.

“Perhaps you should go there, tomorrow. I’m sure you two have much to discuss, without all the rest of us around to… distract from your reunion.” He smiled innocently when she crossed her arms to give him a droll stare.

“I see what you’re playing at Fenris. Nothing like that is likely to happen. It was all so long ago, and we are different now.” She deflected, but he was not to be deterred.

“Just trust me on this, will you? I’ll escort you there as soon as we have word they’re approaching, and while we all greet the Hakwe’s and Varric, you can be there waiting for Anders. No matter the reaction, I think privacy would be best.” She sighed, and he knew he had won. He just prayed the mage reacted accordingly.

Or he’d skin him himself.

Io was restless that night, contrasted against the previous night. She fretted over how she’d be received. By this Hawke, and Varric, whom everyone spoke so much about.

But mostly she worried over Anders. How would he react, seeing her again? Seeing her free of the tranquility stamped on her last she’d seen him? After all they had both been through, could they even still be friends? Never mind closer, as Fenris hinted. Her stomach squirmed at the thought, and she curled further into the blankets around her.

She felt like that young apprentice again; mooning after the older boy who did not return her feelings.

And yet they had been so close, before he’d left her to escape again. That had left her devastated. And he had still been locked away, when the incident with Jowan had happened.

It all felt like a lifetime ago. She felt so much older, a different person even.

A different person she was, when she saw her reflection. White strands mixed with black, scars on her face and body, those on her face barely concealed under the markings barely healed there. She reached up, touching the green lines she knew were there, feeling the shallow and raised lines of scars fading with time.

She hardly recognized herself any more. What would Anders see?

Would he blame her for Karl’s death? As she still often did, when it was dark and her friends far away.

She did not think she could bare it if he hated her; the thought alone made her curl farther in on herself, barely stifling a sob.

That was when she felt warmth cocoon her, like a mother’s embrace. In the next moment, she was in the fade, sweet dreams surrounding her. She would know, when she awoke, that it was the spirit’s doing; so silent and unnoticed most of the time, yet always there when she needed it.

The infants woke her, crying out just before dawn. She fed and bathed them, humming her lullaby to them until Jale came up with their morning coffee. The two had taken to drinking a cup or so together, then eating whatever breakfast they could scrounge together. Usually day old bread and dried meats, even the occasional jar of jam, from his storage.

The forge kept the whole building warm, especially this close to the smithy. She sat in her fur lined trousers and loose wool tunic, enjoying not being bound in all the layers being out of doors called for. Jale himself hardly ever changed from his sleeveless tunic and simple trousers, yet today she watched him wander around pulling on thicker pants, two shirts and a thick coat. She frowned dazedly.

“Are you going somewhere today, Jale?” Her frown deepened when he just smiled at her and disappeared around the back. However, her eyes widened exceptionally when he came back, wheeling in some contraption; like a wheelbarrow in design, but a hood adorned with lace on top, and as she stood to peer inside she saw padding and blankets.

“I commissioned it from a carpenter, many nobles have them now; it makes taking the little ones out much easier.” He flushed deeply, smiling shyly as her dark hands reached in, feeling the fur lined padding, marveling.

“Oh, Jale, this is beautiful.” She was awestruck, and looked into his eyes adoringly. “Thank you so much.” Io laughed, hugging him tightly. “That still doesn’t explain the clothes though.”

He pulled away, gripping her shoulders and giving her a serious look. “I will be joining the others, as they welcome back Hawke and those others. I will be taking the twins with me, in this.” He gave her a very pointed look, and she closed her mouth before she could say anything. “There is a package on your bed; change into it. Fenris will be here shortly to escort you, and I will be leaving with Karl and Solona.” He kissed her cheek, before shoving her towards the stairs.

Warmth filled her chest, and choked her as she left, listening briefly as Jale gathered her children and set out. Her friends were trying so hard.

Fighting the tears the swell of love brought, she closed her door and opened the package, gasping at the dress they had commissioned a few months before. She yanked off her tunic, leaving the trousers on, and pulled the dress over her head. She admired it in the mirror against the wall, fastening the cords on the front of the dress. It fit her form nicely, and she wondered when they had the chance to take her measurements.

The dress was a brilliant green, trimmed with gold filigree around the plunging neckline and billowing sleeves. The dress had many leaves embroidered into it, blending nearly into the rest of the gown, though at the hem the leaves took on a golden brown tone, all of which shone faintly in the light. The front held two layers, binding there with a deep brown cord. When she twirled out, the gown fluttered, billowing around her knees. She giggled, admiring the most lovely thing she owned. She barely noticed Fenris come in, gasping when she saw him smirking at her.

“Glad to see the bloodmage got the measurements right. You look lovely.” He reached out, and she hugged him tightly. “Now let’s hurry. The others should be in the city soon.” He looped an arm in hers, leading her out. She securely bound her daggers to her waist, pulling her cloak over her shoulders. She was careful to keep the gown from being too visible; such fine clothing would not go notice in darktown.

When they reached the clinic, she felt a connection to it, as if it held traces of Anders. She ran her hands across the frames, looking around with a sad smile.

“He always was a brilliant healer.” She whispered, though she noticed there was nothing there to really show it had been his. Fenris reached out, kissing her forehead.

“I should be going. You’ll be safe here, and we will take care of the rest.” She watched her friend go wistfully, wanting to call him back. Once he closed the doors behind him, she pulled her cloak tighter. She felt very small and cold, of a sudden. Alone in the world once more, without her friends and children there to keep the dark away.

 

***

 

Anders felt very tired, as they entered at the gates of Kirkwall. The journey had been tiring, and he dreaded the return the closer they got. He knew a welcoming party awaited, long before he saw them. He knew it was mostly for Tara and Varric, even more for the younger Hawke far away with the wardens now.

He could see on his friends faces that they were relieved to be back, yet still the spark of dread was in their eyes. It would be a long night, and he hoped the retelling would not break Tara. She would already be forced to face her mother, and he worried for her.

 

***

 

When the others saw them, there was a rush, hugging and crying, questions fielded for later. He was surprised when Fenris approached him.

“You look tired mage. Perhaps it’s best you return to your clinic. You aren’t needed; Varric will tell the tale well enough I venture.” He almost wanted to punch the smug bastard, but Marrills voice interrupted.

“Fenris, while harsh, is right Anders. You look very tired. We will look after the others, you should rest.” He should have found it suspicious, those two agreeing on something. In that moment, he was too tired. He missed the looks Hawke and Varric sent Bela and Aveline; the two women shaking their heads with meaningful looks.

“They’re right Anders. Go, rest.” Tara gave him a tired smile, and he nodded weakly, turning towards his clinic.

He missed Jale passing him by, cart in front of him, heading towards the others.

He did not notice the presence in the clinic until he reached the doors. He felt Justice overwhelm him, yanking the door open. But it was only for a moment, flaring down as the woman turned around, eyes glowing bright white, quelling the spirit. He nearly demanded who they were, ready to attack, when their face focused in his vision.

He was certain it was some illusion, a demon preying on his mind. Yet she looked too different for that to be true. Almost different enough to be someone else; white mixed with black strands, the glowing eyes fading to black, green Vallaslin covering nearly faded scars. No brand on her forehead, denoting tranquility.

“Iolarin.” He gasped, knees going weak. It couldn’t be true.

***

When he had approached, yanking the doors open in a glowing frenzy, the spirit had pushed forth uncalled only as it had that first time. It seemed to quell the twisted spirit within Anders, the light flickering from around him. She watched his face go slack, confusion and comprehension mingling on his face.

Then he said her name, and something in her broke. She rushed forward, wrapping her arms around him, tears spilling down her cheeks. She buried her face in his chest.

“Anders.”

***

He barely had a moment before his arms were full of her, deep flowery and woodsy scent filling his nose. He felt weaker, holding her tight. He felt her tears soaking into his robes, and let out a choked sob, almost a laugh.

Maybe this was a dream. Something too good to be true.

“How?” It was all he could get out, a lump in his throat as he wrapped himself around the elf woman shaking in his arms. Around the person his heart had so longed to see whole once more.

***

“It’s a really long story.” She let out a shaky laugh, pulling back. She blushed brightly as he used that to inspect her, suddenly worrying that maybe the dress was too much. Yet, while his eyes lingered along her exposed neck and upper chest a moment, what he focused on most were her flatter belly and the daggers hanging from it.

“Gifts, from a friend. I’m rather good with them.” She hated the way her voice trembled, struggling to compose herself. When his eyes turned to her face, likely inspecting the Vallaslin, she fidgeted.

“You know, the silence and staring are kind of unnerving.” She murmured, gasping and closing her eyes when his hand reached out, cupping her cheek and tracing the markings there.

“I’m sorry. It’s all just,” He laughed brokenly, hugging her close again. She smiled into it, as he went on. “It’s all so much to take in. More than I ever hoped for.” She nodded, reaching up to grip tightly at the robes on his back. Her friend, the one person she had always longed to see again. He was there and real and so very warm.

***

There was a part of him, mostly the warped spirit he housed, that wanted to rage against the unfairness. If there had been a way to break tranquility, then Karl had died for nothing. But the human part of him knew better, that there had been no way of knowing. It stung deeply though.

Fighting down those turbulent emotions, he focused on the miracle at hand. He didn’t want to pull away, afraid she would disappear if he did. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to go on if that happened; he might lose himself to Justice completely.

“Thank you, for finding me.” Her voice was soft, and he could feel her breath against his chest. It made his heart beat faster. Her words brought the lump back to his throat, and he pulled back slightly, staring into her large black eyes. He smiled, just a slight upturn of his lips, reaching up to brush stray strands of white curls behind one of her pointed ears.

“I should have taken you with me.” He had regretted it, leaving her there when he ran, the second to last time. He had been running from her then; from the guilt of pretending not to remember when they were together. He’d had a year to stew on it, so many apologies and confessions he wanted to make when he was released. Yet she had been gone by then. It had been too late.

Io shook her head, and smiled back at him, cupping his hand in hers. Of course, she knew what he meant. At least in part.

***

She had felt betrayed, those years ago when he had left her. And maybe if she had gone it would have changed everything. But he hadn’t asked, and she wouldn’t have said yes. It was a thing of the past.

“I would have told you no, you know that.” She pulled away, afraid of the strong desire to lean into him longer. It would only lead her to heartbreak. She took a shuddering breath, holding his hand still, pushing aside her desires and heartaches. She could do that much for him.

“I do have a bit of a selfish request. I haven’t been to the clan since the children were born, and have had to heal the long way. Mind being my healer?” She beamed at him, touching her stomach with her free hand. “You’re the greatest healer I know.”

His laugh, and the way his eyes softened as he stared at her made her stomach churn with young girl giddiness. Those honeyed eyes, that bubbling laugh, she had yearned for all these years. It made her want to sing.

***

He wondered when she had gotten so good at hiding her emotions. He had only seen a brief tightening around her eyes before she slipped into that smile she was wearing. It angered him, guessing when she had needed to be so poised. But she showered him with flattery, and he couldn’t help the way seeing her made so much of his worry ease.

She lay on the table in the center of the room, cloak drooping down the sides. He smiled, admiring the dress she wore; she looked at place in fine things. Her cheeks were red, and she grinned toothily as he passed his hands over her abdomen.

He detected tearing, inside, and a sizeable drain on her core. As if she had been casting too powerful a magic, worsening the damage of giving birth. He clicked his tongue in disapproval, healing what he could of the internal damage. The drain on her magic and energy he could do little about.

“Oh don’t look at me like that. I’ve gotten quite enough of it from Fenris, thank you.” She chirped, and when he looked to her face, her full lips pouted at him. His brows raised at her mentioning of the elf man, as if he cared for anyone.

“Fenris?” And he could do without the surge of jealousy her soft smile brought up as he spoke that name.

“Aveline is quite upset with me still as well. I’m surprised they let me out of the house. I imagine they think they’re very coy, the lot of them. Sending me to a healer and all.” She spoke with such fondness, it made his heart ache. Had he been gone so long, had so much changed?

“This was their idea, then?” He didn’t miss the way she avoided his eyes, swallowing thickly. She pushed herself up, adjusting the lacing on her chest. He felt nearly lecherous, appreciating her curves - fuller, for an elf.

“Yes. They seem to have all schemed together. Even Jale was in on it, the sneaky smith. Got a pretty carriage, and sent me right to my room as he took Karl and Solona out for some air.” His heart constricted, and his gasp drew her gaze back to him. The sadness she let show, for a moment.

“I hope you do not hold the name against me.” Her voice trembled, and he could not hold himself back as he held her. She was afraid; that he would be angry and lash out.

If he ever found the bastard who had done all this, he would kill him slowly. Painfully.

***

The relief she felt as he hugged her was immense. She had been so afraid that he would hate her, for how she honored her dear friend.

“You two were close, here in Kirkwall.” It wasn’t a question, but she nodded anyways.

“He took care of me, constantly.” A tremor shook her body, as all the guilt swelled in her then.

It was all her fault.

Then she quashed it, refusing to burden Anders, who looked so beaten and tired. For him, she would hold it down.

“That was Karl. He cared very dearly.” He let out a watery laugh, pulling away. His golden eyes were dry, and she hopped off the table with them following her.

She caught a glimpse of something then, a cord around his neck, and the flash of what looked like bone. He followed her eyes, and smiled down. He reached into his robes, pulling out the talisman. Her eyes widened, and her bottom lip trembled.

“A friend of mine found this, in the wreckage of the circle. She asked me if I knew who it belonged to.” Her father’s halla horn pendant hung from his outstretched hand. Her hands trembled fiercely as she reached for it, awed at seeing it again. “I wanted to return it to you before, but…” He trailed off.

She understood. She would not have cared, last he had seen her. Now though, she pressed it to her chest.

All along, she had given it to the wrong man. This time, she gave it one last longing look, and hung it back around Anders pale neck. His eyes were wide, surprised and speechless.

“Keep it for me? I think maybe the gods meant you to have it.” To her, it was a sure sign, finding its way from one man’s neck, to another as it did. He would have had it, before he left. It was always meant to be given to him.

“Are you sure?” His voice was thick, and his hands wrapped around it as if it were a dear treasure.

“One day I will make ones for my children, for them to pass on. This one, I wish you to keep.” He nodded, tucking it aside. She wondered if he was relieved to have it back, warmed by the thought.

“Do you want to meet them? I’m sure the others will be at the Hanged man by now.” She hoped he would love them, as all her friends did; but she was afraid he would only see reminders of why Karl was punished, of why he was dead.

***

She held out her hand, and looked as if she thought he might say no. He hoped one day to help heal some of those wounds; as if she expected to be hurt, dismissed.

So, for her, he smiled as wide as he could, taking her smaller hand tightly.

“I would love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's it folks! Please let me know what you've thought about this journey. Also! Please let me know how soon you guys want part 2? I will be working on that now, but I still feel unsure about how soon I should start posting any of it. Also, I will be uploading some artwork I have for this story as soon as I figure out if I can manage that on this site. (If not I'll post some links)   
> I do have some snippets that I wrote that take place during part one, but didn't really fit in anywhere, that I will post later this week.  
> Until next time, I love all the support and love this has gotten!


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